Flutters of excitement rolled through my stomach like waves as we arrived at Olympic College. A crisp morning breeze surrounded my face, flushing my cheeks and nose 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 so beautifully, it seemed 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”. This awkward- looking man decided to wear a button down shirt with khakis. The outfit looked professional enough, except for the wild thick hairs that poked out of his formal shirt as if they were saying hello. I could not wrap my mind around how much body hair he had visible with clothes on. It surprised me how such a funny looking man could sound 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 six or seven kids are chosen throughout the school to partake in a session lectured by a college professor, and 2 authors who describe how literature became an avenue for their career. Each person will be introduced on stage by me, the speaker. 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. It was as if a lightbulb had finally flickered on and illuminated my brain. 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? A round of applause interrupted my thoughts as the first author walked onto the stage. She was dressed as if she belonged to a fashion agency. The way she sported her neon pink sweater with dark wash jeans made me envy her beauty. She gracefully sauntered across the stage and took the podium. “I will begin my portion of this presentation by stating that as a writer it is important to understand all types of literature, especially the less- interesting ones.” The whole room giggled.
She then exposed her name, Adeline, and began discussing how she believed that her love for writing began as a young child 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. I was able to connect my writing to my reading because I had been exposed to different types of writing via reading. I must have gotten lost in thought again as she explained I more detail because the nest thing I knew I was being interrupted again by the applause.
The next author rose to the stage as Adeline seemed to float off. He wore a tan poncho and blue rain boots. Yet another odd duck to remember from today. He clunked across the stage as if his feet were heavy stones. He took the podium and started speaking in a monotone voice. It immediately made me lose interest in whatever he had to say. So much that even to this day I cannot remember a word that came out of his mouth. Not even his name. I hope it wasn’t anything too important or life- altering. I kept reflecting back to the first author and how she came up with her reasoning. I also thought of her first statement; “… as a writer, it is important to understand all types of literature, especially the less- interesting ones.” At this point in my life I had not discovered a boring type of literature. Even now, I enjoy all forms of literature and try to connect them to me so that I may understand them better.
As the second author’s mumbling stopped, a round of applause gave him permission to clunk his way off the stage. Mr. Fulton announced that we would be doing a few writing activities, then be escorted to the cafeteria for lunch, and be sent back to school. As papers were passed down row by row, the authors gave their farewells and exited the auditorium. Once I received my paper, I started analyzing it immediately. The activities weren’t just boring handouts that we filled out, they were basically mini essay questions that we had to answer in the form of literature listed next to the question. This was the first time I was exposed to critical thinking, and it made me realize how much I enjoyed writing in this style. Although I cannot recall each form of literature I worked with that day, I remember leaving the OC campus that day being more motivated than ever to become a better writer and broaden my knowledge of literature.
No comments:
Post a Comment