How Do You Like Me Now?

When I was in 5th grade a classmate and I decided to write a novel. I can’t remember what our novel was about. All I remember is that I would write a chapter and then I would hand it over to Tonya and she would write a chapter. Then I would read over what she wrote and do my best to follow in line. It was kind of like telling a story over a campfire with a stick that they passed to the next person to expand the story.

We worked hard on it. We worked harder on that novel than we did our classwork. Both Tonya and I were very proud of what we accomplished. When it was all over, I think we had 500 pages that we wrote. Not bad for two fifth graders.

I don't know why, but we decided to ask one of the English teachers to read the little novel we had written. We've bugged her for weeks asking her if she had finished reading it yet. I think it took her a couple of months. Finally, I guess she'd had enough of us asking because she turn around and told us it was crap. She told us that she didn't know why we were even trying to write a novel when that was not a skill we had. If we did write anything it should be a class assignment. We should not be wasting our time on something that we didn't have a talent for.

It affected both me and Tonya in a harsh manner. We ripped up the novel. When I went to her house to spend the night, we burned it in the BBQ grill. Now I know it wasn't a great American novel in the making but looking back it amazes me that a teacher would tear down two fifth graders that had expressed an interest in writing.

The reason for us not having a talent for writing was a stupid one. She said that where there was dialogue there should be quotation marks Because there wasn’t any, we had no business even trying. The funny thing is we hadn't learned that in English class yet and it wouldn't be until 6th grade until we would learn.

It took me a couple of years before I was writing public again and the girl that wrote with me to my knowledge never wrote anything again outside of love letters to boys. Over the years I have embraced writing as a former therapy for me as a voice for myself. Just something to put out into the world. It took me years of getting past what that teacher said and in truth I still can hear her voice in my head at times trying to fill me full of doubt.

I don't know what happened to that teacher. I did find out that she was a little bitter because at the time that she read that novel she herself was trying to become a published writer. Understand this before the Internet was available and so she had done with the old school way. She had written five novels it had been turned down over 25 times by publishers.

Now as a writer I know that 25 times being rejected means nothing more than trying it again with somebody else. But knowing what I know now clearly shows that this teacher was a grown woman and whose job wasting courage the young minds came upon her which jealous I've two just great girls who were just trying to find a way.

In a lot of ways, I'm not even one special. I have put myself out there both online as worlds with snowmelt. I've gotten rejected and I have been judged harshly but I don't see it as a roadblock that prevents me from right again. Instead, I see it as a push to be the best me I can be. Each time I publish something online I hear this little tiny voice in my head I like to think it's the 5th grader me looking at that teacher, sticking her tongue out, and saying how do you like me now.