Reflective Letter
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 sometimes was 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: Some Instructions on Writing and Life,” 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 possible 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 just writing at home.
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. My blog was a big help in that. 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.
This class has showed me that change is not only possible, but that it’s actually good. 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, “Because this nothing that I've been swallowing for four years is getting pretty dry.” That sentence tells perfectly how I’ve been feeling for a long time about not having answers, and I was able to write it with a little creative spin. I could have said, “Because I’m tired of not having answers,” 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 sometimes was 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: Some Instructions on Writing and Life,” 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 possible 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 just writing at home.
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. My blog was a big help in that. 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.
This class has showed me that change is not only possible, but that it’s actually good. 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, “Because this nothing that I've been swallowing for four years is getting pretty dry.” That sentence tells perfectly how I’ve been feeling for a long time about not having answers, and I was able to write it with a little creative spin. I could have said, “Because I’m tired of not having answers,” 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