Picture books
I think it all started in second grade when Mrs. Izatt stood in front of our class and told us to write and illustrate a picture book. Those were her only instructions: write and illustrate a picture book. Murmurs of "How?" and "Why?" floated around the room and eventually sank back into the puzzled faces of the other twenty-nine children in the class. Meanwhile, I earnestly tried to sit still and resist the urge to run in a happy circle and to turn a few cartwheels. I would get to write a book!
For three years, I had read every children's book on my shelves at home. I had devoured picture books and chapter books alike. By the time I started second grade, I read on a sixth grade level and desperately wanted to write something -- but I thought I needed someone else to provide me with a reason to write. Mrs. Izatt gave me that reason. I tiptoed to her when the recess bell rang, pulled her sleeve and whispered, "Is it okay if I write a chapter book?"
"Sure," she said. "As long as you illustrate it."
I began to write a story about a girl whose beautiful birthday necklace gets stolen during her birthday party. It was a shameless rip-off of a similar story I had at home on my shelf. I wrote and wrote. Then I tore up what I wrote. Then I wrote some more. I disliked my final result because the illustrations were terrible (though when I look back, I think I was a better artist then than I am now) and I wasn't satisfied with my story. The plot seemed weak and predictable. Worse, it lacked suspense. Mrs. Izatt gave me an A that I didn't think I deserved.
So I tried to write another story, a better story. I still wasn't satisfied. Another story, a better story. No matter what I wrote, I knew I could write better. So I did -- through elementary school, through junior high, through high school -- and though college has slowed me down, I have never stopped writing. I've become too used to one-upping myself. I paid enough attention in my English classes to learn the rules so I could justify breaking them later. I wrote essays as they were assigned and then set them aside in favor of creative writing projects. The essays never seemed to suffer from the neglect, though I admit I feel vaguely guilty every time I see an A on an essay I churned out at ten o'clock the night before.
Yes, I procrastinate. And the less I care, the more I procrastinate. So I created a system for myself that helps me to care: I try to turn all of my writing assignments into creative writing projects because that is where my interest lies. Many of the students who come in are so uninterested in what they write, it shows in their writing. And these students know their boredom shows in their writing. In turn, this knowledge leads to a perpetual fear of being boring.
My advice? Blessed are those who can entertain themselves with their writing, for they shall never be boring.
For three years, I had read every children's book on my shelves at home. I had devoured picture books and chapter books alike. By the time I started second grade, I read on a sixth grade level and desperately wanted to write something -- but I thought I needed someone else to provide me with a reason to write. Mrs. Izatt gave me that reason. I tiptoed to her when the recess bell rang, pulled her sleeve and whispered, "Is it okay if I write a chapter book?"
"Sure," she said. "As long as you illustrate it."
I began to write a story about a girl whose beautiful birthday necklace gets stolen during her birthday party. It was a shameless rip-off of a similar story I had at home on my shelf. I wrote and wrote. Then I tore up what I wrote. Then I wrote some more. I disliked my final result because the illustrations were terrible (though when I look back, I think I was a better artist then than I am now) and I wasn't satisfied with my story. The plot seemed weak and predictable. Worse, it lacked suspense. Mrs. Izatt gave me an A that I didn't think I deserved.
So I tried to write another story, a better story. I still wasn't satisfied. Another story, a better story. No matter what I wrote, I knew I could write better. So I did -- through elementary school, through junior high, through high school -- and though college has slowed me down, I have never stopped writing. I've become too used to one-upping myself. I paid enough attention in my English classes to learn the rules so I could justify breaking them later. I wrote essays as they were assigned and then set them aside in favor of creative writing projects. The essays never seemed to suffer from the neglect, though I admit I feel vaguely guilty every time I see an A on an essay I churned out at ten o'clock the night before.
Yes, I procrastinate. And the less I care, the more I procrastinate. So I created a system for myself that helps me to care: I try to turn all of my writing assignments into creative writing projects because that is where my interest lies. Many of the students who come in are so uninterested in what they write, it shows in their writing. And these students know their boredom shows in their writing. In turn, this knowledge leads to a perpetual fear of being boring.
My advice? Blessed are those who can entertain themselves with their writing, for they shall never be boring.
posted by Anonymous at 1:13 PM
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