"Do you think of yourself as a writer?"

Well no.  And Yes.

 I have never completed a novel, never had work published, never even worked out exactly how to write the perfect sentence.  If that is your definition of a writer, than no, I am not.

And yet, as I discussed in previous blog posts, I definitely find satisfaction from writing.  As a child, I would doodle out little stories, and write my universe's important events in my journal--which usually came back to bite me later when my brother inevitably stole my writing and displayed it in the most humiliating ways he could contrive. I write texts.  I write emails.  I fill up my journals and compose good old fashioned letters.   I write countless pages for my college classes.   And yes, I even compose poetry from time to time.

That's not to say I always enjoy writing.  In most cases it is like trying to build a giant stone edifice with very little more than your physical strength.  The process is painful, the task daunting, and the results more or less sound.  Yet there is satisfaction in the work, and a kind of high from creating something that wasn't in existence before.

I do not classify myself as a writer in that I see myself as an ultimately talented expressionist, nor do I love to sit down with a 10-page critical analysis assignment and chipperly zoom through page after page.  Writing isn't my profession--it's my personal form of creating self-dignity.  All writing, for school or pleasure, however, needs three essential elements for me to find it beneficail.  

1.  Writing That Matters. 
My creative writing class, which allowed us to write in our own style and voice, had a purpose.  Writing was a way to communicate thoughts, ideas, and emotions.  The better you wrote, the more clearly (or complexly) or ideas could be shared.  That was a reason.  In history, we wrote about things that affected our country, such as specific events during WWII or the differences between presidential policies.  That writing mattered, because it was a way to figure out where we had been and where we were going.  

On the other hand, writing for hours about the vocabulary in "Something Wicked This Way Comes" seemed worthless.  Why did we write?  How did it help me, change me?  What did it give me?  Writing in school had to have purpose.  

2.  Writing That Creates
Closely tied to the first rule, creating something meant that the writing I did had to bring something new into existence.  It had to bring a display of ideas into the world that were not just a repeat of what a teacher said, nor was it quoting the textbook.  In fourth grade we had to copy a poem four times every week.  Perhaps for some students this helped improve their handwriting, but all it did for me was have a lot of missing assignments.  Writing must bring thought into being--otherwise we might as well not write at all. 

3. Writing That's Validated
One of my favorite anecdotes from high school is set in my Honors World History Class in 10th grade.  We routinely wrote the dreaded "DBQ" essay, and I was more than a little confused by the convoluted directions we received for doing so.  Having a good self-image as a writer, however, I was determined to create something brilliant for a particularly difficult DBQ writing assignment.  Starting well ahead of the due date, I spent hours writing and revising, pouring figurative blood and literal sweat into that document.  Each sentence was carefully crafted, and I had a brilliant and original take on the issue at hand.  Oh, wasn't I just as satisfied and smug as could be?  Writing hadn't been fun, but it had been worth it.  On the due date I cheerfully handed my paper in, and put it out of my mind.

Until I got it back, that is.  Covered in red ink, my beautiful paper had been branded by the worst kind of graffiti.  Mysterious question marks, minus signs, cross outs, and comments such as "What were you trying to say?"  and other vague comments such as "poor transition"  tattooed my ravished paper.  In bold flourishes at the top of my page was the cruelest notation of all--I had received 50% on the assignment.  50%!!!!!!   Such a thing was not possible after my hours of toil, but the glaring red ink never altered.  Humiliated and depressed, I slipped the paper into my backpack and did my best to ignore my celebrating friends, who had scored quite well.  

When the next DBQ assignment rolled around, I determined to try again, putting almost as much effort into the second paper.  My score improved little.  Completely defeated, I decided that DBQs simply weren't worth my while.  If I was going to fail anyway, why even try?  The night before the next assignment was due, I was still procrastinating.  I argued to myself that my teacher wasn't fair, and that I would fail anyway.  However, it wasn't like me to simply not do homework for high school, so at last I gave in to my nagging conscience and marched upstairs to my room, flipped on my Newsie's soundtrack, and hurriedly pulled a paper together.  It took an hour, tops, and in my memory it was closer to half that time before I declared the assignment done.  I knew it was well below my best effort,  but at least I had something to turn in, which I reasoned was more than could fairly be expected of me.  

When handed back, my paper was again covered in red ink--only this time it screamed things like "excellent!"  and "great job!."  I could hardly believe my eyes--the little throw-together-no-editing paper actually got 100%.  Even more absurdly, my teacher announced to the class that if any student wanted to see a really well done DBQ, they should come take a look at  mine.  Astonishment doesn't even begin to cover it.  I was grateful for the grade, of course, but resented it at the same time.  Why was it a better paper?  I knew it was simply a last minute effort.  To this day, I still have no idea why that paper scored higher than any of my others.  My only conclusion is that my teacher happened to be in a terrific mood while grading the 100% paper.  

So what do these experiences mean to mean as a future teacher?  I'll tell you.  

1. Writing That Matters
As a teacher, I hope to never tell my students to write "just because."  Writing should always have a purpose, even if that purpose is simply to help students learn how to effectively communicate.  No one cares why Huckleberry Finn chose to protect Jim, but everyone should care about how and why and what moral dilemmas they face on a personal basis--and what they are going to do about it.   

2. Writing That Creates
Students should have opportunities to build something with their writing.  If they are writing things that matter, students should also be writing things that they can be proud of and use in the "real" world."

3. Writing That's Validated
 Besides high-stakes assignments (i.e., end of term papers, test essay questions), students should have ample opportunity to practice writing.  Free writing and journaling will definitely be a big deal in my classroom so students have a chance to practice writing skills.  Also, when a student scores high on a paper, they need to know why they scored high, they need to know why they scored high, and when they scored low they need to know why they scored low.  Grading should not be a mysterious, arbitrary process, as in my World History class.  To combat the mystery of the grade, I will provide detailed rubrics for large writing assignments, as well as personal meetings with students who consistently score low on certain assignments.  Not only will I explain what students may have done incorrectly, but I will also take class time to explain how to do it correctly.  

So am I a writer?  Well, if you mean to ask if I am a person who strives to create written ideas that matter and deserve validation, then yes, I am indeed a writer.  I want my students to be able to say the same.