Writer’s Workshop
Flutters of excitement rolled through my stomach like waves as
we arrived at Olympic College. A crisp morning breeze surrounded my face,
making my nose and cheeks become flushed with a red tint. My teacher, Ms.
Martin, escorted me off the bus along with a few students from my school. It
was hard to locate her among the sea of people, as she blended in due to her
short height. The morning sunshine shone through the trees, looking as if a
photographer should have been there to capture the moment. As I made my way to
the auditorium, I pondered how I could be skilled enough in English to be
recommended for this Writer's Workshop. I felt as if I had been invited to a
VIP event, and in a sense I was. When the squeaky doors were pried open by the
security guard, a rush of musty carpet smell rushed over me. It was like
walking into a basement.
The auditorium was so dark that nobody could see where they were
going. After aimlessly trying to find our seats for a good five minutes, the
guard finally managed to locate the light switch. I quickly found an aisle seat
and plopped down next to my teacher. Once everyone was seated, the speaker, Mr.
Fulton, announced in a booming voice; “Ten minutes until we begin children”. It
surprised me how such a funny looking man could be so intimidating. After
chatting with my teacher about how bushy Mr. Fulton’s eyebrows were, the squeaky
doors had been opened again, allowing fresh air to fill the auditorium once
again. I didn’t recognize any of the faces that walked in, but judging by their
age, I assumed they were from another elementary school in the area. My
assumptions were confirmed when my teacher excitedly squealed; “Hello Ms. Pitcher!”
Ms. Pitcher looked like a gorgeous Amazonian goddess to me. Her perfect curly
hair, her long legs and beautiful smile made me instantly comfortable around
her. Ms. Martins’ shorter legs made her look like a munchkin compared to Ms.
Pitcher though.
After the process of opening the shrieking doors and more student’s
flooding in repeated four more times, Mr. Fulton boomed “We are now ready to
begin the lecture. Please quiet down and be respectful of the guests we have
invited to speak to us today.” After the room fell silent, Mr. Fulton went on
explaining why we were there. “You are all here as a privilege because your
teachers see great potential in your work as a writer, not because you are the
perfect writer already. Writer’s Workshop is a specialized field trip for grade
school level students who are skilled in composing literature. Only 6 or 7 kids
are chosen throughout the school to partake in a session lectured by a college
professor, and 3 authors who describe how literature became an avenue for their
career. Each person will be introduced on stage and asked questions throughout
the lecture by the speaker, me. As this lecture continues, you will begin to
understand how there is always room for improvement as a writer. You will be
exposed to other people’s experiences that you may or may not relate to. The
point of all this is to show you what you can achieve by refining your skills
and pursuing literature.”
Everything made so much
more sense in that moment. I felt empowered to learn that my skills and
enjoyment for writing lead me to an exclusive opportunity to explore other
forms of literature. It was an organized setting that didn’t leave any room for
error. I was lost in my own thought as Mr. Fulton introduced the first author.
I was so proud of myself I couldn’t even concentrate on his loud obnoxious
voice producing elaborate words. I began to wonder what would have happened had
I not been given this opportunity. Would I still be inspired to write as vigorously
as I had been before?
I slowly came back into focus after pondering the “what
ifs” for a good five minutes. The author was discussing how she believed that
her love for writing began when she started reading novels more frequently. As she
continued, I wondered if the same was true for me. I had always been good at
reading and I enjoyed it… did it also make me a better writer? As I thought
through the complex questions I asked myself, the answer became clear to me.
Reading other’s works gave me insight to good writing.
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