The Idea of an Essay, Volume 4

26 The Idea of an Essay: Volume 4 just finished writing my first poems. My eyes scanned each one meticulously for mistakes, even though I had already checked three times. “Spring”, “Summer”, “Fall”, and “Winter” were my “down to earth” poems. Each described with physical elements, such as temperature or the delightful smell of food. But there is one poem I can’t wait to show my teacher, “Space”. “Space is wide, space is deep, darkness all around…” this beginning of my poem shows how elementary it is, but that doesn’t matter, the page isn’t blank. These poems were the first complete pieces I had written by myself. Creative writing, as they called it, was not easy for me. I could quickly spit out labs, research papers, or even the occasional bibliography because all I had to do was regurgitate learned information. Anytime when I had to think about feelings or, heaven forbid, make up my own story, I froze. My mom bought three or four different writing textbooks to help me improve my writing, but I was science and math oriented, according to society, it was expected that I would have trouble writing, and I fit the bill perfectly. When I finished these few short poems, I immediately called my mom into the room to display my first literary art. “I wrote them all by myself!” I proudly stated. She gave me a hug and told me how good they were. Her affirmation to my “masterpieces” sparked some confidence in me. I broke the cycle. From then on, my writing became increasingly better. I wrote a ten page paper about the summer we demolished, moved, and rebuilt our barn; of course, this actually happened, so it was not too challenging. More impressively, I wrote a piece about the book, The Giver. The assignment was to take the open ending of this book and finish the story. I knew something had changed in my writing because I actually enjoyed this assignment. I actually enjoyed creative writing! I believe my reading habits had something to do with that. Ever since I was little I loved to read. Like, absolutely LOVED to read. In my mind, I would become the characters the books were about. I was an extra friend that adventured to magical lands in the Magic Tree House, or a soldier marching into battle ready for the civil war. I was with the Pevensie children when they met Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, I was Digory Kirke venturing through early Narnia with Polly Plumber and my crazy uncle, I was Alex Rider. Alex Rider was a super cool, sixteen year-old spy for the British