Originally turned in to Evelyn McDonnell for her Feminist Critique Class at Loyola Marymount University. Edited for posting.
One of my least favorite childhood memories goes as follows: I was in the 2nd grade and we were getting our report cards. My amazing and inspiring second-grade teacher, Ms. Pruden, who I am still friends with on Facebook, started praising our class. “You all are so smart! I only had to give out one 1 this quarter, I usually give out more! I am so proud of your class”. I was beaming. I was smart! I immediately knew who got the 1 on their report card, it was Ian. He always stood up when he asked questions and that was weird. He definitely got the 1. Different was weird and different was wrong.
I got home that day and opened my report card. I was excited to maybe see a 4 this quarter, not only 3’s like I always got. I unfolded my report card and immediately saw the 1. It was me, I was the one kid who got the failing grade. Not only was I an awful speller, I was officially the stupidest girl, and person, in my second-grade class. My confidence was crushed. It became nonexistent.
This lead to a seven-year streak of avoiding everything Language Arts and English related. I got a D in Language Arts in 6th grade, avoided going up in front of any of my classes at all costs, refused to be “the writer” in any group projects, avoiding learning any grammar rules, and had consistent panic attacks about essays.
Until ninth grade. Long story short, my teacher, a Loyola Marymount University alumni, was completely inspiring. I got an A in English both semesters. Something switched in my brain. I ended up taking Honors English in tenth grade, AP English Language Composition in the eleventh, and AP English Literature my senior year. I came to college as a Psychology major but switched to Journalism as soon as I had the chance. I started a blog and write about anything and everything constantly. I used to doodle pictures, but now I doodle words. I have always claimed that my reason for writing is because I need to catch up on years of missing out. I have seven years worth of thoughts that never had the courage to come out before.
I think I feel motivated to write because a lot goes on in my head that I think should be heard. Writing is my way of making sense of the world. Even when I do not feel like typing my heart out, I am writing down ideas for articles I want to write in the future, whether it is current dilemmas, album reviews, or life updates. I will write anywhere and everywhere and about pretty much everything. I love it. I am obsessed with writing, hearing about people reading my writing, and thinking about writing. When someone calls me a writer, I always say “I hope I will be someday”. I think I just want my voice to be heard.
Something I hear a lot from others, but cannot confirm myself is that I have a distinct writing voice, that I write the same way that I speak. I alternate long sentences with short without thinking, I list things constantly, and overuse short paragraphs. I never criticize, I never over complicate, I always start with a story or metaphor. My voice is mine, I cannot seem to shake it.
While I do prefer quality over quantity, I often find myself with more words that I can type. I am really grateful that I have Brisk Ambition, an outlet where I feel like I can be heard. I always try to be authentic with my writing and my voice. I do not want to feel influenced by others or feel like I have to fit into a box. I think being yourself and staying true to your own causes and beliefs can be sensed in writing. I think at the end of the day, I hope I never have to give up this blog of mine. I am in an interesting place right now, life has been throwing me a lot of curveballs. These next few months of exploration will be interesting. I am excited to see where my writing takes me and where I take my writing.