I’m a writer. I always have been. I have a notebook full of fictional stories I scribbled in kindergarten. I have journals upon journals that document my middle school, high school, and college experiences. I have binders of poems, letters I never sent, conversations I never had. Writing was and is my outlet.
I always received good grades on my papers with little effort, and I was always the one stuck editing my older brothers’ papers late at night. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with writing, but I knew I was a writer and always would be. My parents always encouraged me to develop my natural writing skills.
My senior year of high school, I went through a sort of mid-school crisis as I like to call it, and I decided that I was going …show more content…
As soon as I read the first part of the first sentence on the Professional Writing and Information Design (PWID) page, “If you like writing, editing, and design…” I knew exactly what I was going to major in. So I transferred to Cedarville, technically a sophomore but feeling like a …show more content…
I was devastated and embarrassed. So many things were running through my mind. Why am I even in this major? Professor Carrington probably thinks I’m so dumb. I’m not cut out for this. I’m probably not even a good writer. Seriously, a C??
After some time of grieving, a new wave of thoughts flooded in. I thought to myself, “Olivia, you’re in a writing major. Everyone here is a good writer. Waiting till the last minute isn’t enough anymore. You need to learn to impress yourself with your writing.”
I came to the conclusion that I probably didn’t even know how well I could write because I never challenged myself to be better; I had always settled for waiting till the last minute to produce acceptable work. But not anymore. I wanted to impress myself with my own writing, and last-minute work wouldn’t do that.
Although still slightly embarrassed, I had a new sense of confidence and determination to take on the rest of the semester with. I spent some more time on the next paper and was ecstatic when I received a B+. When I saw the comment “you write well” at the end of my paper, I thought I was going to explode with happiness and
I always received good grades on my papers with little effort, and I was always the one stuck editing my older brothers’ papers late at night. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with writing, but I knew I was a writer and always would be. My parents always encouraged me to develop my natural writing skills.
My senior year of high school, I went through a sort of mid-school crisis as I like to call it, and I decided that I was going …show more content…
As soon as I read the first part of the first sentence on the Professional Writing and Information Design (PWID) page, “If you like writing, editing, and design…” I knew exactly what I was going to major in. So I transferred to Cedarville, technically a sophomore but feeling like a …show more content…
I was devastated and embarrassed. So many things were running through my mind. Why am I even in this major? Professor Carrington probably thinks I’m so dumb. I’m not cut out for this. I’m probably not even a good writer. Seriously, a C??
After some time of grieving, a new wave of thoughts flooded in. I thought to myself, “Olivia, you’re in a writing major. Everyone here is a good writer. Waiting till the last minute isn’t enough anymore. You need to learn to impress yourself with your writing.”
I came to the conclusion that I probably didn’t even know how well I could write because I never challenged myself to be better; I had always settled for waiting till the last minute to produce acceptable work. But not anymore. I wanted to impress myself with my own writing, and last-minute work wouldn’t do that.
Although still slightly embarrassed, I had a new sense of confidence and determination to take on the rest of the semester with. I spent some more time on the next paper and was ecstatic when I received a B+. When I saw the comment “you write well” at the end of my paper, I thought I was going to explode with happiness and