My parents are moving to the other side of the country after living in the same house for about 15 years. They asked me to come over and sort through my stuff, so I could take what I wanted. I’m going through my old schoolwork and trapped underneath a mountain of the most vibrant shade of purple prose was a budding writer. I was using metaphors at ten years old even though I didn’t know what a metaphor was until I was much older, and there were bits and pieces of insightful prose in my high school essays. It means something to me because I feel like a fraud among other writers because I didn’t spend my whole life writing. I’m not a writer, but instead someone who loves to write. A distinction with a big difference.
Unlike a lot of other writers in the blogosphere, I didn’t spend my whole life writing fiction and/or fanfiction. As a child I wrote lots of stories about ponies, unicorns, and princesses, but after age eight I didn’t write for fun anymore. I’m not sure why I stopped, but I lost interest in it. However, I’ve always had a voracious appetite for books. Margaret Atwood touched my heart in 11th grade. Her prose was so gorgeous, and I just fell in love with her as a writer. There’s some neurochemistry beyond my ability to put into words that happens when I come across poetic prose. It’s just ummmmf * -*
In 12th grade AP English I realized how much I enjoyed writing, but I wouldn’t branch out on my own and start writing fanfiction till I was in my mid-20s. Last year I made the transition into original fiction, and that’s when I became aware of the fact that I was different from most other writers. After going through all of my old schoolwork, I realized I always had the heart of a writer so maybe I’m not the black sheep of the writing community like I thought I was.
Here is my high school tribute to my 12th grade AP English Class. Even then I had a penchant for angst and poetic prose though it would be years before I could write something decent.
I thought about writing a dedication to each individual, but I don’t think that’s necessary. In the big scheme of life names become a blur and memories fade. At the moment high school seems so significant, but in a while it will be just an indistinct memory worn away by time. I wish to address the larger picture. I would like everyone to know that in some way or another they had a positive influence on my life. There are a few of you who have become very close friends and intertwined your lives with mine. I need not mention who you are because I’m sure you already know. Then there are also some of you that have caused me pain, but it doesn’t matter now. . . I don’t wish to dwell on bitter memories because in the end I have benefited from each and every one of you. It was nice because I’ve been in class with so many of you for four or more years now. Since I have moved so much in my lifetime, I’ve never really had a chance to enjoy seeing my classmates mature. Although I had a really difficult time when I started school in this district five years ago, I now feel at ease around every one of you. Surprisingly, English is my favorite class, and at the heart of it is you Mrs. X [name removed for security purposes]. I never really got to know you personally, but in many ways I feel like we have a close relationship. You helped rekindle my love for writing and perhaps I have found a bond with you in that way. There will never be a time again in my life quite like this; a time of decay and a time of growth. I thank all of you for being such a large part of my life. I will probably never see most of you again after graduation, and your distinct identities will most likely fade into obscurity, but as a group I will remember you. . .