Slow Going

I graduated high school believing I was a bad writer. My senior English teacher fostered preexisting self-doubts, criticizing my essays with no real feedback. This was amplified by the fact I had several friends who could write their papers quickly, receiving higher grades, while I struggled getting the arguments and explanations swirling around my head untangled and onto the page. My insecurity was such that I chose a major that exempt me from the distribution requirements of a standard Arts & Sciences degree. I did not think I could keep up with all the writing requirements and was convinced people would decide I didn’t belong at the university.

In reality, I wasn’t a bad writer. I was slow, but that is unrelated to being good or not. There are a number of prolific writers out there who use a lot of words to say very little. It is true, however, that I has some catching up to do. Aside from the truly phenomenal Mr. Desimone in 10th grade, all of my English teachers from 7th grade on either provided few opportunities to write, or didn’t give instruction when I did. I got into my head that I was a math and science person, and, as such, I needed to avoid writing.

I managed to so quite successfully until the second semester of my junior year in college. The writing process incredibly stressful, but, much to my surprise, the response was positive. Even, years later, when I went to grad school, my professors marked my papers favorably. I still held doubts, though. Part of me suspected they didn’t read anything too closely.

That’s why I find it ironic that, for the foreseeable future, a huge part of how I will be making my living is through writing. In January, I left my job at ROP and now work full time for Cage Free Voices as the Lead Content Developer and Project Coordinator. Lessons, emails, and proposals, I will be doing all kinds of writing. It’s great!

The doubts continue to linger. As recently as last night, I became frustrated, hearing “you’re no good at this,” refraining through my head. That voice was wrong, though. My colleagues were encouraging. More importantly, the intended audience for the write-up replied in a way better than we were hoping. He even referred to the details I’d been struggling most to include “rightly”.

I’ve written this as a reminder. I do wish I was faster, but it’ll okay. Speed isn’t my gift. I recently saw that Neil Gaiman wrote 50 words a day while working on Coraline. So, I guess one could say that, at my current pace, I’m in the company of giants.