Shelby Higdon

Tori Hamby
UWRT 1101-019
09/11/14

Why I dont write
I love words. Not so much the letters put altogether to create a word, more so the meaning of
every word. The idea that a simple combination of three or four letters can create such a vulgar
or jovial meaning seems so incredible. My love for words made it very easy to enjoy reading. In
first grade my teacher assigned me to a reading buddy every wednesday and I absolutely
adored it. I was allowed to choose whichever book I wanted and we could read up to three books.
It was the highlight of my week. This was the first reading experience that I really remember
well and ever since then Ive loved it more than anything. Unfortunately, I dont share that same
passion for writing. In fact, I passionately hate writing. Usually, Im very against using the word
hate because its one of those simple words that carries a massive and vulgar meaning, but in
this case I am more than happy to make an exception. Writing for me is like having a bunch of
fiery bumble bees in my chest. When I cant put the ideas in my mind into word and onto paper I
become so frustrated and angry with myself. I get this terrible energized feeling in my chest that
wont go away until Ive completed the writing or taken a much needed and very lengthy break.
Im not entirely sure why I hate writing because there isn't just a single moment or event that
made me hate it. I think it was a series of events through middle school and high school that built
up my hatred for writing.
I began my seventh grade english class as an eager student going through all of my classes with a
straight A attitude and a chummy grin. Id always been a good student. I studied hard and
earned great grades and I was almost always happy because I had absolutely nothing to be
unhappy about. So, when the first quiz came around I was more than prepared. I understood
every question, knew all of the answers and I answered them with confidence. I can do this!
This is an easy A I thought. A few days later the quiz was returned but my grade did not
reflect my confident answers in the slightest. I received a 60%, my first failing grade. As the year
progressed I went to numerous tutoring sessions many of which were quite successful. How
could I have missed this Id think to myself. Its such an obvious answer, I shouldve gotten it
right not the quiz. Good thing I can still get it right on the test. But my test grade didnt seem to
reflect my practice in tutoring. My quiz and test grades improved only a small amount if any
amount at all. A couple years later I began my first year of high school and the beginning of my
required portfolio. I tried to be enthusiastic about the writing assignments that were waiting for
me a few weeks ahead but at that point thinking about formal writing was simply discouraging.
When my first draft was returned to me there was more red pen than black printer ink. I shrugged
it off its just a rough sketch. Im sure I can improve it enough by the turn in date. I thought.
The beginning is never perfect. Then I received my second draft and there wasnt any less red
ink than the first time. I corrected all the initial problems! I thought and began to re-correct my
errors. Frustrated and ready for the torture to end I turned in the final revised draft. Although I
dont remember the exact grade I know it was not a good one. This is when I really knew I didnt
like writing. I was proud of my essay and thought it deserved a better grade than what I received.
I was disappointed in myself and in my writing. Luckily, the next year something was different.
The one and only time I did well on a paper was when I truly cared about it and when my teacher
genuinely cared about the success of her students, including me. My sophomore year in high
school my english teacher was better than any teacher I could ask for; she was critical of my
writing but always supportive and encouraging. I wrote my paper on social and professional
media and the effects of media on young men and women's body image, a topic I found very
important and very interesting. When I received the first draft it was as expected, the was way
more red pen than black ink. My teacher approached me and said Shelby lets work on your
writing. and together we built and improved my first draft. As we wrote more and corrected
each mistake, the red pen marks started to disappear and a more cohesive assignment was created.
When I received my final draft my grade was definitely not as Id expected. It was a really good
paper Shelby. You did very well. My teacher told me. Nothing could have brought my mood
down that day. It was the first, and the last time I had ever received a 97% on an essay.
Most fortunately for me, there are other means of exploring vocabulary and that is through
reading. Like I said before, I relish reading more than almost anything in the world. I read my
first 300+ page book in the third or fourth grade, called Maybird and the Everafter. Although it
took me a couple of weeks to complete the book, I felt beyond proud of myself for finishing and
understanding it. For days afterward I wouldnt stop talking about how good the book was and
subtly added that the book was over 300 pages long.
My freshman year, the same year that made me really dislike writing, was also the year that also
made me truly love reading. For our summer assignment we had to choose a memoir and (of
course) write a short paper on it. I chose A Long Way Gone; Memoirs of A Boy Soldier. It
was short but it was deep and full of unfathomably scary events. It goes from the thrilling details
of the invasion of his village to when he was drugged, trained and forced to fight a corrupt war.
Through the entire book I cried and gawked at the utter disrespect and viciousness his captors
had. I couldnt put it down. I spent weeks with the book. Countless nights and well into the
morning with my nose in the book, tear streaks on the pages and on my pillow. I couldnt wait to
finish the book because it was so upsetting but at the same time I never wanted it to end. Finally,
through the hardships, fear and pain Ishmael made it to freedom in America and became a
successful public speaker. This part in the book impacted me significantly. I thought it was
incredible that somebody who had gone through some much could just turn his life around. I felt
so excited about this book and I wanted to have that feeling again, so I picked up another book
and another and another. I read all kinds of books, fantasy, horror, biographies, autobiographies,
any kind of book you can think of I read it.
I read so many books that by the end of my senior year, after finishing the entire Harry Potter
series I struggled to find more books to read from the library at my school. The librarians knew
me by name and I called them by their first names. I was so intrigued by every book they
suggested to me. I havent been able to put down a book since then and I dont think I ever will.