Reflective Letter - Draft 2
Dear
Nan,
Since your birthday passed a few weeks ago, I find myself thinking of you more and more often. I think about how important you were; how much of a staple everything we did together was in my life. Though, many years have passed since then and as hard as I try to remember, I don’t know if I shared much of what went on in school with you. School has been so influential, and insanely crazy ever since I left grade school. There was so much I wish I could have shared with you.
When we were assigned to write a reflective letter to anyone we wanted, I wasn’t sure at first. I drew a blank in writing class for the first time in my life. The gist of what we needed to say wasn’t difficult, and to be honest, it shouldn’t really have mattered much who this letter was for. But writing doesn’t have meaning without a good audience and when I thought hard enough, it came to me. So even though I could say a million other things, I want to tell you about my college writing class.
English Composition I began on a silly note. We told secrets and let go of our first day nerves. As the class progressed, people became more comfortable and soon were debating their beliefs with those of others. It was something I really enjoyed, surprisingly, considering how loud class can get sometimes. Soon we began diving into the technological world. I had already tried my hand at blogging, so the assignments were a slight comfort whenever I thought I wasn’t capable.
The learning curve for me began when we truly touched upon the real assignment: a creative nonfiction essay. “True stories well told”, I read in “What is Creative Nonfiction?” by Lee Gutkind. That simplistic view threw me, because I remembered reading books and essays labeled Creative Nonfiction. I also remembered hating them. How could I hate something well told? I found out just a week later that it maybe wasn’t me, it was the pieces I had been reading back then.
The stories we were presented with in class were fascinating and gripping. They truly read like my favorite fiction novels. In two particular readings, “Miracle Woman” and “Everyone Knew I Was Gay, Except My Brother,” I found myself immersed. The readings were short and concise, but the power they held was in the scenes they presented. It wasn’t long from beginning these kinds of readings before it was drilled into our heads that showing writing, which consists of descriptive and detailed action scenes and some follow up explanation, was the key to good creative nonfiction. That didn’t mean it wasn’t key to other writing, because as noted in my week four reflection blog post, I found consistent examples of showing in my favorite fiction novels.
Once I felt confident in my ability to write showing scenes, I began developing my story. This was another place I ran into trouble. With developing this story came deadlines and my migraines were having a decidedly bad flare up. That left me pretty incapacitated from my assignments and I missed my first day of class. I was heartbroken. But that really only made my story feel that much stronger. My migraines are just a part of my life now, and my essay worked to show how I worked with and around them. Unfortunately, working around my migraines was sometimes impossible and I had to severely revise one of my blog posts because it had been written poorly in the haze of pain.
When the pain is at its worst, remembering, “Bird-by-Bird,” a reading from way back in the beginning of the year is the most helpful thing in the world. I just tell myself to write one paragraph and take a break and then keep doing that until the assignment is finished. I also take the weight of criticism off of my own shoulders for that moment. Because everybody has, as Lamott says, “shitty first drafts.” I am most certainly not an exclusion for that, even on my best day.
This class has taught me to challenge what I believe as a writer. It’s something I’m more and more grateful for every day. I’ve never been so relieved to not have to worry about writing in first person. It was actually encouraged from the start. Crazy, right? I found out that there’s really no such thing as being unbiased when it comes to a research paper which was possibly the most heavenly news since finding out I got a raise at work. The class has truly strengthened my love for writing and it’s gotten me back in the swing of writing at home just to explore my thoughts and ideas.
Don’t get me wrong though, this class hasn’t been all daisies and rainbows. One of our first few readings was, “How to Create Fiction When Reality Comes to Call,” and while I read it and made margin notes, I struggled with it. I had to read it at least three times to make sense of it and even then, it’s something I haven’t looked back at unless necessary. It was almost as bad as, “Picturing the Personal Essay,” which was filled with abstract drawings and monotonous wording. Those pieces put a halt on the smooth rolling train I had going at that time. The other readings were interesting and made me think, but these ones felt more like torture. That isn’t something I say lightly either.
When I began writing my essay, I struggled to break free of my old writing habits. I already knew that good writing took more than just summarizing a scene, it took bringing the reader into the event with you. So finally, I imagined you there, Nan. I pictured what it would have been like to see you ghosting your way through my doctor’s appointments and my hospital stays. I imagined you sitting in the corner, observing my daily interactions and thought of how they would look through your eyes.
And that’s what it took for me to finally get it to click. Suddenly I saw where my errors and flaws were and started fixing them instead of giving up on the piece entirely. I replaced my way of thinking entirely. Instead of trying to write out my thoughts, I began tape recording myself. I found quickly it was much easier to describe something in speech than it was for me in writing. But then again, you always did receive the long winded end of all my thoughts in our conversations.
My blog helped me as well. We had a few assignments specifically to write showing scenes, but the real push came when we weren’t required to do it at all. So one night, after a particularly grueling week, I found myself typing out a showing scene. It wasn’t necessary, but I knew it would illustrate better the situation than me just having had explained it. The practice made it that much easier when it came time to write the actual essay.
Composition class took a turn after writing our Creative Nonfiction Essays. The entire class took the plunge into one of my worst fears when it comes to writing: research. I know this is something you remember, considering Saint Laurence had me writing research papers since I could write in cursive. You stayed up with me countless nights writing about weather cycles and the history of the Mayflower. You know that I can’t separate how I feel from what I learn. You know I’m a horrible procrastinator when I have to do things I don’t like.
Well, I hate to say that nothing’s changed, but it’s true. If age has done anything it’s made me even more opinionated. I have gotten a little better about not leaving things until the last minute, but it is still something I struggle with, especially with my migraines now in the picture. However, something interesting happened when we started to look up research topics and explore our possibilities. My professor told us that it was okay if we wrote in first person and if we expressed our opinions, as long as we had information to back it up with. Suddenly the world opened up. There seemed to be endless possibilities to explore, realms of topics I had left untouched for years simply because of bias.
I found my topic through a movie called Food Inc. We watched the movie in class as a large topic for research, if anyone was interested. There were several categories within the movie itself that somebody could research such as foodborne illnesses, Food and Drug Administration regulations, genetically modified organisms, and animal cruelty. Remember how I would always play with every dog and cat I would see? How I would constantly save my bread crusts for the birds in your backyard? Well that hasn’t changed. In fact, I have two cats of my own now. When I saw how the animals in the movie were being treated, it brought back memories of when I was younger. It reminded me of a time where I fought both you and Mom about being a vegetarian and saving all the animals in the world, like I was the female Noah.
Religious values aside, once I saw the horrid conditions the animals lived in, I knew the direction I was headed in. There were other topics in the movie that piqued my interest such as the way the workers in the food processing plants were treated, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about the animals. The workers could try to stand up for themselves, even if it felt like a hopeless cause. The only things the animals could do were try to run and make noises of protest. It all seemed so heartless.
From that point on I worked on a few different projects. We looked at something called the rhetorical triangle, which my teacher explained was a means of communication and analysis. I had encountered the words on the triangle (logos, pathos and ethos) before in a class I took at West Chester University. I struggled with using the triangle as we looked at different commercials and videos. However, after looking at blogs from my classmates, I began to see how I was overcomplicating things.
The reason I finally knew what I wanted to write about was an assignment where we had to write about an article for the New York Times Room for Debate. Room for Debate is an online page where there are several different popular topics that are debated by professionals. My professor told us to go to this website (the New York Times is online now) and pick a topic that would lead our research paper. I found one on animal rights and it was pretty much over from there. I spent almost two hours writing just that one post. After talking with my professor, I realized I didn’t want to stop and animal cruelty alone, I wanted to be more specific. I wanted to talk about animal testing. I dove into the world of animal testing and anti-testing protesters after that.
The world was so familiar to me. It wasn’t the first time I had immersed myself in it. But things had changed, they had become more horrifying. They had also become more hopeful. Worse testing methods were being used, but there were new and better alternatives.
I struggled to organize my paper and create a valid thesis. My biggest issue was finally crafting my paper in full and then having it completely disappear on my computer. I was crushed after that happened and when I realized I couldn’t get it back, I just sat and stared. I even contemplated giving up. But then I thought about what you would think. I thought of the way you would look at me and tell me to, “Stop acting like a ragdoll and get a grip.” I remembered that I am half my mother and that the women on my mother’s side are “strong like ox.” So I set my disappointment aside and started again. The second time around wasn’t nearly as good as the first, but it was a start. By the time I got to my third draft, I felt really confident in my work and I only needed to go in with copyediting. I had to look at sentence structure and see if I could make my sentences less wordy. I can happily say that I have completed a research paper that I am proud of.
This class has showed me that change is not only possible, but that it’s actually good. Two years ago I would never have believed I could write in research, but now I have proof that I can. I feel more confident in my writing abilities and my knowledge of writing processes. I wish you could read the things I’ve developed, because I’m really proud of them. Like the sentence on a personal reflection, “But then again, maybe tomorrow rainbows will be made of candy and the clouds will rain dollars.” That sentence illustrates perfectly how I feel about the doubt others feel about my migraines, and I was able to write it with a little creative spin. I could have said, “Tomorrow could hold more hopeful prospects,” but it didn’t sound right to me. And like you always told me, “If it doesn’t sound right, you’re doing it wrong.”
I miss you incredibly, Nan. I’m glad I can share this with you, even if you may never really know. Writing is something I know we could have bonded over when I was older. I hope you’re happy where you are.
Love always,
Jessie
Since your birthday passed a few weeks ago, I find myself thinking of you more and more often. I think about how important you were; how much of a staple everything we did together was in my life. Though, many years have passed since then and as hard as I try to remember, I don’t know if I shared much of what went on in school with you. School has been so influential, and insanely crazy ever since I left grade school. There was so much I wish I could have shared with you.
When we were assigned to write a reflective letter to anyone we wanted, I wasn’t sure at first. I drew a blank in writing class for the first time in my life. The gist of what we needed to say wasn’t difficult, and to be honest, it shouldn’t really have mattered much who this letter was for. But writing doesn’t have meaning without a good audience and when I thought hard enough, it came to me. So even though I could say a million other things, I want to tell you about my college writing class.
English Composition I began on a silly note. We told secrets and let go of our first day nerves. As the class progressed, people became more comfortable and soon were debating their beliefs with those of others. It was something I really enjoyed, surprisingly, considering how loud class can get sometimes. Soon we began diving into the technological world. I had already tried my hand at blogging, so the assignments were a slight comfort whenever I thought I wasn’t capable.
The learning curve for me began when we truly touched upon the real assignment: a creative nonfiction essay. “True stories well told”, I read in “What is Creative Nonfiction?” by Lee Gutkind. That simplistic view threw me, because I remembered reading books and essays labeled Creative Nonfiction. I also remembered hating them. How could I hate something well told? I found out just a week later that it maybe wasn’t me, it was the pieces I had been reading back then.
The stories we were presented with in class were fascinating and gripping. They truly read like my favorite fiction novels. In two particular readings, “Miracle Woman” and “Everyone Knew I Was Gay, Except My Brother,” I found myself immersed. The readings were short and concise, but the power they held was in the scenes they presented. It wasn’t long from beginning these kinds of readings before it was drilled into our heads that showing writing, which consists of descriptive and detailed action scenes and some follow up explanation, was the key to good creative nonfiction. That didn’t mean it wasn’t key to other writing, because as noted in my week four reflection blog post, I found consistent examples of showing in my favorite fiction novels.
Once I felt confident in my ability to write showing scenes, I began developing my story. This was another place I ran into trouble. With developing this story came deadlines and my migraines were having a decidedly bad flare up. That left me pretty incapacitated from my assignments and I missed my first day of class. I was heartbroken. But that really only made my story feel that much stronger. My migraines are just a part of my life now, and my essay worked to show how I worked with and around them. Unfortunately, working around my migraines was sometimes impossible and I had to severely revise one of my blog posts because it had been written poorly in the haze of pain.
When the pain is at its worst, remembering, “Bird-by-Bird,” a reading from way back in the beginning of the year is the most helpful thing in the world. I just tell myself to write one paragraph and take a break and then keep doing that until the assignment is finished. I also take the weight of criticism off of my own shoulders for that moment. Because everybody has, as Lamott says, “shitty first drafts.” I am most certainly not an exclusion for that, even on my best day.
This class has taught me to challenge what I believe as a writer. It’s something I’m more and more grateful for every day. I’ve never been so relieved to not have to worry about writing in first person. It was actually encouraged from the start. Crazy, right? I found out that there’s really no such thing as being unbiased when it comes to a research paper which was possibly the most heavenly news since finding out I got a raise at work. The class has truly strengthened my love for writing and it’s gotten me back in the swing of writing at home just to explore my thoughts and ideas.
Don’t get me wrong though, this class hasn’t been all daisies and rainbows. One of our first few readings was, “How to Create Fiction When Reality Comes to Call,” and while I read it and made margin notes, I struggled with it. I had to read it at least three times to make sense of it and even then, it’s something I haven’t looked back at unless necessary. It was almost as bad as, “Picturing the Personal Essay,” which was filled with abstract drawings and monotonous wording. Those pieces put a halt on the smooth rolling train I had going at that time. The other readings were interesting and made me think, but these ones felt more like torture. That isn’t something I say lightly either.
When I began writing my essay, I struggled to break free of my old writing habits. I already knew that good writing took more than just summarizing a scene, it took bringing the reader into the event with you. So finally, I imagined you there, Nan. I pictured what it would have been like to see you ghosting your way through my doctor’s appointments and my hospital stays. I imagined you sitting in the corner, observing my daily interactions and thought of how they would look through your eyes.
And that’s what it took for me to finally get it to click. Suddenly I saw where my errors and flaws were and started fixing them instead of giving up on the piece entirely. I replaced my way of thinking entirely. Instead of trying to write out my thoughts, I began tape recording myself. I found quickly it was much easier to describe something in speech than it was for me in writing. But then again, you always did receive the long winded end of all my thoughts in our conversations.
My blog helped me as well. We had a few assignments specifically to write showing scenes, but the real push came when we weren’t required to do it at all. So one night, after a particularly grueling week, I found myself typing out a showing scene. It wasn’t necessary, but I knew it would illustrate better the situation than me just having had explained it. The practice made it that much easier when it came time to write the actual essay.
Composition class took a turn after writing our Creative Nonfiction Essays. The entire class took the plunge into one of my worst fears when it comes to writing: research. I know this is something you remember, considering Saint Laurence had me writing research papers since I could write in cursive. You stayed up with me countless nights writing about weather cycles and the history of the Mayflower. You know that I can’t separate how I feel from what I learn. You know I’m a horrible procrastinator when I have to do things I don’t like.
Well, I hate to say that nothing’s changed, but it’s true. If age has done anything it’s made me even more opinionated. I have gotten a little better about not leaving things until the last minute, but it is still something I struggle with, especially with my migraines now in the picture. However, something interesting happened when we started to look up research topics and explore our possibilities. My professor told us that it was okay if we wrote in first person and if we expressed our opinions, as long as we had information to back it up with. Suddenly the world opened up. There seemed to be endless possibilities to explore, realms of topics I had left untouched for years simply because of bias.
I found my topic through a movie called Food Inc. We watched the movie in class as a large topic for research, if anyone was interested. There were several categories within the movie itself that somebody could research such as foodborne illnesses, Food and Drug Administration regulations, genetically modified organisms, and animal cruelty. Remember how I would always play with every dog and cat I would see? How I would constantly save my bread crusts for the birds in your backyard? Well that hasn’t changed. In fact, I have two cats of my own now. When I saw how the animals in the movie were being treated, it brought back memories of when I was younger. It reminded me of a time where I fought both you and Mom about being a vegetarian and saving all the animals in the world, like I was the female Noah.
Religious values aside, once I saw the horrid conditions the animals lived in, I knew the direction I was headed in. There were other topics in the movie that piqued my interest such as the way the workers in the food processing plants were treated, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about the animals. The workers could try to stand up for themselves, even if it felt like a hopeless cause. The only things the animals could do were try to run and make noises of protest. It all seemed so heartless.
From that point on I worked on a few different projects. We looked at something called the rhetorical triangle, which my teacher explained was a means of communication and analysis. I had encountered the words on the triangle (logos, pathos and ethos) before in a class I took at West Chester University. I struggled with using the triangle as we looked at different commercials and videos. However, after looking at blogs from my classmates, I began to see how I was overcomplicating things.
The reason I finally knew what I wanted to write about was an assignment where we had to write about an article for the New York Times Room for Debate. Room for Debate is an online page where there are several different popular topics that are debated by professionals. My professor told us to go to this website (the New York Times is online now) and pick a topic that would lead our research paper. I found one on animal rights and it was pretty much over from there. I spent almost two hours writing just that one post. After talking with my professor, I realized I didn’t want to stop and animal cruelty alone, I wanted to be more specific. I wanted to talk about animal testing. I dove into the world of animal testing and anti-testing protesters after that.
The world was so familiar to me. It wasn’t the first time I had immersed myself in it. But things had changed, they had become more horrifying. They had also become more hopeful. Worse testing methods were being used, but there were new and better alternatives.
I struggled to organize my paper and create a valid thesis. My biggest issue was finally crafting my paper in full and then having it completely disappear on my computer. I was crushed after that happened and when I realized I couldn’t get it back, I just sat and stared. I even contemplated giving up. But then I thought about what you would think. I thought of the way you would look at me and tell me to, “Stop acting like a ragdoll and get a grip.” I remembered that I am half my mother and that the women on my mother’s side are “strong like ox.” So I set my disappointment aside and started again. The second time around wasn’t nearly as good as the first, but it was a start. By the time I got to my third draft, I felt really confident in my work and I only needed to go in with copyediting. I had to look at sentence structure and see if I could make my sentences less wordy. I can happily say that I have completed a research paper that I am proud of.
This class has showed me that change is not only possible, but that it’s actually good. Two years ago I would never have believed I could write in research, but now I have proof that I can. I feel more confident in my writing abilities and my knowledge of writing processes. I wish you could read the things I’ve developed, because I’m really proud of them. Like the sentence on a personal reflection, “But then again, maybe tomorrow rainbows will be made of candy and the clouds will rain dollars.” That sentence illustrates perfectly how I feel about the doubt others feel about my migraines, and I was able to write it with a little creative spin. I could have said, “Tomorrow could hold more hopeful prospects,” but it didn’t sound right to me. And like you always told me, “If it doesn’t sound right, you’re doing it wrong.”
I miss you incredibly, Nan. I’m glad I can share this with you, even if you may never really know. Writing is something I know we could have bonded over when I was older. I hope you’re happy where you are.
Love always,
Jessie