When I started this creative writing class in January, I was very timid about writing. I had been writing a blog for three years, but in my mind this did not make me a “writer.” Any old lump can write a blog, I thought, so something else has to be different to make me a “writer.”
Over the course of the semester, the most important thing I gained was confidence. Yes, I learned a lot of principles that I applied to my writing to make them better. I tried different genres and writing styles and learned what I like and what I don’t. But what I feel was crucial to my growth in this class was learning that a person who writes is a writer. I learned that writing should be shared and not hidden out of fear of what other people might say. I learned what it feels like to write something good – not just good, but good, something I know deep down is worth reading – and I know what it feels like to write something merely sufficient, something that meets the requirements and is, at best, not too embarrassing. I learned that I no longer have to worry about someone reading a piece and telling me I have no future in writing. I do. I may not be there yet, but I will be someday.
So, what grade do I think I deserve? I’m going to say I deserve an A. I think I’ve turned in A-quality work from the very beginning. I’ve attended class, read the book, done the assignments, participated, etc. I don’t need an A, though, for reassurance or approval or an ego boost or any of the other reasons I like A’s so much. I deserve an A because when I filled out a form at the eye doctor yesterday, under “Profession” I put “writer.”