A Brief History of Myself as a Writer, Part One.

       My parents, bless their hearts, read to me every night from the moment I was born. Every night. At the time I had no recognition of the impact this  would have, but I now know that it, and my resultant love and obsession with reading, had an incredible influence on who I am today. Every detail of my life is directly related to reading, writing, and language as a whole. I get good grades because my parents read to me. I work as a tutor, and know the grammar rules, because my parents read to me. I am articulate and do well in interviews because my parents read to me. I am a writer because my parents read to me.

My style varies greatly, primarily based on topic. I adore blogging, and using a relaxed, informal tone, which is primarily what you’ll find in this exercise, but I also have great passion for formal writing, especially when it is a discussion or analysis of history. I’d like to explore my journey as a writer through a discussion of a few samples, and it is my hope that you have a chance to experience both of my writing voices as they are. Due to length, my ramblings and explorations will be split into a series of posts. The first part will focus on high school, while the second will address my years in university. 

High School

 “Young Americans mark the passing of their school careers with important milestones such as the promotion from middle school to high school.  At each event we are asked questions like "What do you want to do with your life?", and "What will you do for others?"  Until a few months ago, my response had always been "Huh? I don’t know what I want to do.  I'm only seventeen. What kind of question is that?!"  I was a free spirit.  A jellyfish, if you will, floating along on the currents of life, never stopping to really think about my world.  I didn't question the way things were, where I lived, or where I traveled. Why should I concern myself with things that were seemingly beyond my control?  Then everything changed.” 

            This is most certainly not the best writing, but I enjoyed doing it. I had fun with the silly analogy, and it was a chance to explore my still developing voice and style.  This was one of the first things I wrote after completing the transition from public schooling to homeschooling. I can hear how excited and hopeful I was. I can hear how I was already beginning to love school again, which is truly a miracle. 

            “Written in 1943 by esteemed author Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead relates the turbulent tale of an innovative young architect, Howard Roark, and his experiences with the world.  Set in New York during 1922 and the progressive years that followed, Roark's story is of his struggle with the inability of those around him to understand him, and with his failure to comprehend their thoughts, motives, and opinions.  This becomes apparent in chapter one; ‘He had met many men such as the dean; he had never understood them.’  ‘…he always looked for a central theme in buildings and he looked for a central impulse in men. He knew the source of his actions; he could not discover theirs.’” 

            I remember reading The Fountainhead for the sole purpose of writing this scholarship essay, and I loved it so much more than I expected. It was the first time a book made me feel grown up and mature. It made me feel as though I had learned something, or grown somehow. It also led me to the realization that I can love young adult novels and “grown-up” stuff equally, without sacrificing anything. I always felt as though it had to be one or the other, never both, and this changed that. I think it's unfortunate so many feel limited in their choice of reading materials because of socially constructed ideas of "correct" reading. Boys shouldn't read the Vampire Diaries, girls can't like sports strategy, grown-ups shouldn't read Harry Potter, and no one should read Twilight. I think it's unfortunate, and that we're doing ourselves, a supposedly advancing society, a great disservice. 

            “In The War of the Worlds, author H. G. Wells weaves a creative tale of fear, hope, and, of course, Martians.  An important piece of this novel's uniqueness is its lack of names for the protagonist as well as several of its secondary characters.  In my opinion, Wells' use of anonymity increases his book's emotional impact upon the reader, therefore increasing his book's overall effectiveness.
            The effectiveness of a novel is, essentially, the novel's ability to connect with the reader.  The War of the Worlds is very successful in this area, and H. G. Wells accomplished a high level of effectiveness through several means.  He used themes that remained relevant over time and that everyone could relate to, such as religion and its role in people's belief systems, and warfare as it affects the lives of people and their country.  Wells also employed verisimilitude and, most importantly, anonymity, to build a story that successfully captures the reader.”

            I read War of the Worlds and, surprisingly, hated it. I’m not sure why, really, but I suspect it may have something to do with the aliens. Aliens have always scared me a bit. The writing itself is interesting because it’s a relatively early look at my development as a more formal and analytical writer. One major difference is that I’ve since learned to contextualize a bit better, and to clarify definitions of words that may have more fluid connotations. I usually try very hard to never assume that my readers understand my thought process, but here I've not really succeeded.

By the time I completed high school, I was a fairly experienced writer who had written over eighty scholarship essays. I won some, I lost some, but most importantly, I gained confidence in my abilities. I grew a lot during those years, and during that time, I also read obsessively. I read anything and everything, but especially supernatural, paranormal, and historical YA fiction. I would lie in bed reading for hours at a time, living in another world. It was magic.

At one point I had a wonderful spy dream. I was a young student from a spy school, and I had been captured by the enemy. I was fighting, everything went dark, and I woke up in a hospital three months later. A twin sister I never knew I had stared down at me. My desire to write this story was boarder lined on fanatic, but I started, I became annoyed, and I quit. I’d like to think that I’ve learned to be more patient with myself, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true.

Part Two