My Life as a Writer

I had to write this for class, I'm leaving this the way I turned it in on purpose. I'm sure I could make it better.

Yeah, I’m a rebel.

I mean, just look at all of the open space I left, I wanted to let that statement sink in for a moment, and fill space so I can reach the required length (that’s why its typed in 13 pt font too and emptiness is exactly how much space is added to a five page paper when the font is increased by 1 pt.). The word rebel has such negative connotations, often conjuring up images of a guy in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette, telling his “skirt” that she doesn’t need to worry about the game of chicken he is going to play at Make Out Mountain. What people often forget is that many of our greatest thinkers as well as writers were rebels. Thomas Paine helped establish the principles of free speech, and he was damn good too. Martin Luther King Jr., and Malcolm X were viewed as terrorists by our government. Che Guevara was literally a rebel, and the freedom fighters of the world would have a tougher time without his manual Guerrilla Warfare. Karl Marx would more than likely still be called a rebel. I was delighted in high school that Kurt Vonnegut, considered to be a classic author, said an asterisk (*) was his drawing of an asshole, and semicolons (;) “...are transvestite hermaphrodites, standing for absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.” Some would argue that the Buddha and Jesus were rebels in their time, and looking at the morals of many present-day Christians, I would say that Jesus’ ideas are just as radical now. If circumstances were different, any one of these people could have become that stereotypical chain-smoking, leather-clad, womanizer, but they didn’t. Maybe it was a good teacher, possibly a chain of events that pushed them in that direction, or the books and newspapers they read, regardless of the reason, these men used their words for good. The people in charge of teaching me writing had knowledge of these people, as well as my spirit of dissent, but never told me that I could do something other than annoy my teachers. Luckily for me, I did find a way to overcome the odds, work within the system, and become a successful writer: obtaining a college degree as well as placement awards for Michigan State Forensics Sales Speaking and Michigan Student Teacher of the Year. Peers in my education classes are stunned at the difference between what I say in class and my projects and presentations, and by the end of the semester most add savant to my previous title of idiot.

Like great leaders, rebels are not born, they are created over time, always with great struggle, but in my case struggle was mostly by teachers. I started my education the same way most people do, with great excitement and anticipation. Unfortunately, my enthusiasm for education faded more with each passing grade, reaching a pinnacle in 5^th grade. That year, the majority of my written words were repeated sentences designed to punish my behavior. “My teacher is not a wiener” still flows from my pen as easily as it did those 500 times 11 eleven years ago. Did I learn anything from this type of discipline? I certainly didn’t learn my lesson because at least one of those sentences clearly stated, “My teacher IS a wiener.” What I did learn was that writing was a waste of time and it was painful mentally and physically, as I developed severe carpal tunnel syndrome that year. What I did learn was how to write sentences more efficiently. I would experiment until I found the best method-was it quicker to write each sentence word for word, or one word at a time? In 5^th grade carbon paper and a blue pen that was weak on ink (Pentech was the best brand) were my best friends, as long as the carbons were buried at the bottom, as if my pen had lost its will to live, just as I lost my will to write. It seemed that every other week, I would spend hours creating and every time, my teacher would deposit my hard work in the trash, and it hurt my feelings as much as it hurt my hand. Unconsciously the idea stuck in my mind that it’s pointless to put effort into writing because some frankfurter teacher was just going to throw it away.

Needless to say, my experiences with writing did not improve much in middle school. Although I did not have to write sentences, most writing was forced upon me, therefore most of my writing sounded forced. One of the best examples of writing for fascists was Michigan’s Standardized Test, the MEAP. During the writing portion I was asked to write about courage, at age 12, I had no experience with courage, but I wish I had the courage to tell the state where they could put their test, because it was taking time away from more important things. I found myself in trouble less, but my reputation still followed me around. If a prank of some kind happened, my peers were quick to blame me, because of my constant joking. When I was framed for a profane note left on an enemy teacher’s desk, I learned a lesson that occasionally inhibits my writing today. While I did not get in trouble for this, the experience taught me what Dick Cheney has known for years, do not put anything in writing because it might be used against you one day.

I did have many terrible experiences in middle school. Unlike elementary school, there is a positive one that sticks out in my mind. I was asked to write a journal from the prospective of an adolescent during American colonial times. In my journal I discussed the Salem Witch Trials and purposefully used my teacher’s name spelled backward as a witch, and unfortunately for Mrs. Senrab, when she was thrown off the cliff, she did not fly back to the top. It turns out that Mrs. Senrab, like her modern day forward spelling counterpart were not witches, but rather something that rhymes with witch. My teacher never mentioned it to me, maybe she didn’t notice because she was married and didn’t pay much attention to her husbands’ last name. Regardless of the reason, this was a huge victory for me; doing something I thought was hilarious without writing “My teacher is not a witch,” 1,000 times. For the first time, other than when I was writing sexy notes to girls in my class, I learned that writing for myself can be rewarding, and I kept that colonial journal to this day.

Unlike the transition to middle school, positive experiences with writing continued in my high school years. For the first time I discovered writing outside of school for personal satisfaction. I started keeping a journal, co-authored a children’s book with my aunt entitled “Monkey Doo-Doo, Monkey Poo,” and most importantly for me, joined a band and started writing songs. Remembering my previous school experiences, it is hard to imagine that at this point I loved writing, but only on my own terms. I was introduced to all the great things about writing: creativity, self-expression, reflection, and speculation. Joining a band helped my confidence as a writer. What better affirmation that people enjoy your writing than a crowd yelling your lyrics back at you. People were chanting along with me, and I decided to see how far I could push it. Unlike the sentences I wrote in elementary school, these words would stick in people’s heads and I wanted to hear a crowd of people yelling something creepy or gross or misinformation. When I wrote the song, “____ ___ = ____ ___” I had no idea if it would work, but it did and when people reminisce they always mention that tune. Our band had no political agenda we just wanted to enrage people. The first pre-emptive protest song, “Free Osama” never got a public performance due to a controversy with the venue over an advertisement for the premier with a picture of that gentlemen with the words “free me” coming out of his mouth. Banned in Ypsilanti at age 16 sounds like something out of The Outsiders to me.

But my teenage years weren’t just about sing along songs that could have given half of my high schools’ population HIV. I came a long way from the usual notes to girls that simply asked, “Will you kiss me behind the bleachers after school, circle yes or no.” Not only did I include a maybe on the list of options available to circle, but occasionally wrote things that were heartfelt. When the first girl I really cared about had to move back to England, I was crushed. I wanted to do something special to say good-bye to her. I realized there was a possibility I would never see her again, but I wanted her to know how special she is and always remember the good times we had together. I did what some men never get the courage to do: I wrote down exactly how I felt, and it worked. She cried, I cried, she got on the plane, and it was difficult. We did have the opportunity to meet again, and while catching up she told me the note I authored 8 years ago reappeared when she was cleaning her closet, and reading it took her back to that airport in Detroit. Writing this note changed my whole outlook, when it came to expressing feelings to loved ones, I dropped the “Dick Cheney” leave no paper trail idea. When I write a thank you note, I thank people not only for their gifts or services, but also for their positive influence in my life. It is not uncommon for me to receive a thank you for writing a thank you note. My dad retired after 38 years of teaching this year, and I know he appreciated the note from his son who is taking up the family business.

While my personal writing was improving, writing for my classes didn’t see the same amount of success. Humor was always a presence in my writing, some teachers appreciated it, but most didn’t. My AP History teacher thought my movie reviews were hilarious, even the movie I admitted sleeping through and wrote a review not of the movie, but the dreams I was having during the movie. First week of school she said to me, “Wykes, you’re either going to be a stand up comedian or a teacher.” She was right, especially because I think the best teachers have a little stand up comedian in them. When I was a senior, my AP Biology teacher was not as excited about my humor. Because I was 18, I could write my own excuses for being absent. There were many reasons I missed AP Biology (as you’ll understand more later): I enjoyed going to concerts that ended late, looked exactly like my 21+ year old brother, and AP Biology was first hour. At the beginning of the year, my teacher made the mistake of telling me that it wasn’t her job to question the excuses on the notes, but each note had to contain an excuse. What was I to do? There was no way I could write, “Please excuse Gordon for being absent yesterday, he was at a heavy metal concert drinking illegally, and had a severe headache, and still smells like a homeless shelter.” When you have to make up 60 excuse notes, you tend to run out of excuses. She was not too pleased when I missed her class due to temporary paralysis that kept me in bed, my religious holiday Menolikeschool (pronounced Menol Ikes Chool), or when I had stigmata.

The one place where I excelled a great deal with writing was public speaking. A small reason I pursued education is I love being the center of attention. I prefer speaking because I can use voice inflections, show my personality, and use sarcasm. Speaking also taught me organization and I probably wouldn’t be able to write an outline without those years of training. Access to computers drastically improved my writing. The computer is one of the greatest things for a ten year victim of that horrible disease, carpal tunnel. I took typing my freshman year, and it was one of the best things I’ve done. The only problem with my typing class was I had to use typewriter, some days I will still hold the correction tape to the computer screen before I remember that a computer and a typewriter are different.

While growing up I thought my problems with writing were unique at each stage of development. Boring teachers who gave boring assignments. Being forced to do writing assignments when a graph, picture, or for my teacher to just stop being a wiener would have done the job better than writing. When it came to writing most teachers ignored the creative part and focused on term papers and reports. I was angry that I had to show all steps of the writing process; in elementary school brainstorming was in my head, middle school-written on my hand, and senior year of high school it was on bar napkins. I had to handwrite drafts, when proofreading would have been so much easier on a computer. No teacher ever took me aside and asked me what I was passionate about, as a result, the topics I picked for papers were things that didn’t interest me. Most of all, I hated the limits of writing for me to be the center of attention.

So what separates me from Martin Luther King Jr., Che Guevera, and Karl Marx? No doubt that accomplishments are the biggest difference. But I’ll tell you something we have in common-courage. The courage to stand up to authority. Courage to listen to criticism and rejection. The courage to tell people your true feelings. The courage to speak in front of a crowd. The courage to tell the state of Michigan they are ruining your education. The courage to write the correct length without altering margins or font size. And along with the right tools, courage is what students need too. Because the opposites of courage, fear and anxiety, prevent people from discovering and expressing their passions. I don’t know what circumstances made it happen but sometime while growing up, I developed the courage to be a rebel with a cause, and like Martin Luther King Jr. work within the system to stimulate change in something that never worked for me and many others.