Narrative Essay Ap English Class

From the ages six through twelve, I wrote stories for my friends and family. I remember sitting at an giant, old computer that they had in 2003. It wasn’t easy to use, but I was determined. I moved my short little fingers across that smooth keyboard in hopes of creating a masterpiece. I remember showing my first work to my friends at school and watched how they dissect my “masterpiece”. What I believed to be flawless was littered with spelling mistakes, plot holes, and other miscellaneous things that children my age could point out. I was angry beyond belief. My family had always praised me on how well I wrote and how skilled I was, but here I was being critiqued by people who didn’t even read. Being at the age I was, I couldn’t help but think

Now, by this point I was excited to take on this class. I had heard horrible things about how the teacher would just cut you from the class if you had too many punctuation errors or that she would force students to knock out an essay in the first half of class. I couldn’t contain my joy when I heard this. Me, a person who lived and breathed reading and writing, would soon get a chance to possibly advance even further. So over the summer, I knocked out the teacher’s readings and came to class the first day ready. I remember walking in and seeing the small woman I think I’ve ever seen in my life. Ms. Michals, the english teacher, was always described as an intimidating force of nature that could make even the most hardened students cry. So when I saw the most adorable woman with a nice dress and welcoming smile, I was surprised. I turned in my books and sat down at a desk only to see that there was already a essay prompt on my desk. The bell rung and Ms. Michals told us we had fifty minutes to complete an essay. She then told us that there were too many people in this class and that the lowest scoring people would be moved down. Everyone in my class looked up at her and some people even laughed a little bit. There was no way that she was serious about that, especially since she had such a wonderful smile still on her face. Panic set in for me. I could feel

My teacher said she couldn’t get enough of my writing. I wanted to be proud of myself, but it left such a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Soon enough, people started coming to me from help on their work. I helped them with anything they needed. Over time, my peers began realizing their mistakes and begun to improve. They didn’t need to tell me they did, I could see it in their writing. This really managed to snap me out of my failure-created haze. I might not be be in the top class, but at least I could help others. It really look back on how I felt about writing. In my mind, writing was a horrible thing that put students through heartache and despair. As I watched the same students who felt discouraged feel a surge of confidence everytime they did well, I knew it wasn’t the writing itself that people hated. People hated the feeling of being inadequate. I should have realized it sooner because I have seen it my youth. Every time someone writes for a score, they want to do they best they can and feel discouraged when they don’t perform well. I was no exception to this. However, I could see that at some point in the writing process people who try begin to feel good. I’ve seen people get happy over finishing, get happy over reviewing it, and even get happy over just starting to write. My point is that writing is rough, but it isn’t rough all the