Terry Hamilton

WRT 1000/1150
Mrs. Quolette
15 July 15, 2014

Deep within the vestibule of my brain, lays my first memory. The memory of my
teachers and principal telling my mother that school was not for me. I was diagnosed with
ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), and could hardly put pen to paper or words to
speech. They said there was little hope for me in life. That was a grueling day in the third grade,
and a disconsolate night. My mother didnt know what to make of the situation. Though I was
young I understood what was going on. That night I cried. I cried tears of anger and righteous
fury. This is the night that I decided that I would become the best writer that I could possibly
become. Anger can be a great destroyer, bringing forth the embers of destruction; however anger
can also be an astronomical motivator. It made me hunger and thirst to be the best in my own
respect.
Though I was young, I knew how to get something I needed, and I needed help. One of
my teachers wanted to help me, and I will thank her eternally for what she did. She and my
counselor, Mrs. Ribblon taught me one on one, every day after school. Turns out all I needed
was for someone to believe in me. I learned at an expeditious rate. Apparently it was rather
profound that one could gain knowledge so quickly. My other teachers and even classmates
began to acknowledge my, at the time, vastly superior writing and speaking skills. Throughout
the remainder of elementary school, I won several awards for writing as well as a few school
spelling competitions.
There came a time when I became too confident in my skills. When I reached the sixth
grade I had a writing class that I expected to go rather well, however it did not. My teacher took
my into the hall after reviewing the essay I submitted. He told me my writing was nearly the
worst writing he had ever seen in his entire teaching career. I was utterly devastated. The skills
that I worked so hard to acquire and acuminate, no longer meant anything. It was a wasted effort.
Thats what I told myself day in and day out. I no longer cared about anything anymore. I was
enraged, with a hatred of vast magnitude dwelling within me.
My behavior changed fiercely, I was uncontrollable. I was suspended from school more
time than one would care to count. For a while I could not understand what was going on with
me, I was lost. Blinded with a misplaced rage that hurt so many and comforted so few.
Eventually I began to read a myriad of books and I figured out my problem. Humility is what I
lacked and is why my writing was lacking drastically. I was so proud and confident in my skill
that I didnt accept that other individuals help. By this time I was in the middle of my eight grade
year. I finally understood the lesson my teacher attempted to teach me. I went back to that man
and thanked him, for now, I had been enlightened.
Eventually I began to free write. This became my favorite type of writing. My
imagination written out on sheets of paper was an amazing feeling. This constant writing
exercise strengthened my writing even further. Eventually I became a strong enough writer that I
Terry Hamilton
WRT 1000/1150
Mrs. Quolette
15 July 15, 2014

no longer need to do most pre writing exercises. I knew high school would not be an easy road,
despite that I was prepared and confident. Through my free writing I began to realize that I could
be a good story teller. I showed my work to some colleagues and teachers. For the most part they
were amazed, and I felt good. Not good as in a sense of pride, rather that I made someone happy
and proud in life.
Writing is so elegant. To be able to express ones ideas on paper is one of the ultimate
joys. Though my path to becoming a good writer was tedious, I did not give up. I strived to
understand its principles and concepts.