I was in a Creative Writing class in my final year of high school.
I am trying to understand why I enrolled in this class. Although I struggled with English during school, the creative part seemed fun.
Our teacher was Mrs. Fortunato, who also taught drama. She wore flowing patterned dresses and liked to use the word “Thespian” a lot.
“Theeessspian”
Not surprisingly, a large part of the class was writing, and we had writing assignments every week. They were due on Mondays, so I dreaded ending the weekend by trying to write something.
I sat down and could not think of anything creative to write. I started to get frustrated, and then my mind drifted to the pizza I had eaten the previous evening. Now, that was something.
So I sat down and wrote about that.
I wanted to get it over and write without overthinking.
We discussed the assignments later in the week, and she usually picked some to discuss. She had never mentioned mine previously, so I had low expectations.
This time, she stopped, and before the discussion began, she calmly said to the class:
“I would like to share some excellent writing this morning.”
Everyone focused on her.
She then pulled out my paper and read the text slowly, adding dramatic pauses and emphasis.
I looked around the class, thinking she must have been crazy.
A story about eating pizza.
I went into that class telling myself I wasn’t good at English and left feeling like Shakespeare (almost).
Forty years later, I still remember this.
It’s human to want skilled feedback and to have a champion in your corner because we are all co-writing our narratives.
Our potential diminishes or expands in proportion to the stories we tell ourselves.
Let’s look at them with fresh eyes: authentically, honestly,
and with compassion.
Who is that champion in your corner?
What story are you telling yourself that may be crap?
PS: yes, I used to have hair and was awardedmy high "best hair" in school graduating class.