A Woman Told Me I am A Good Writer — So I Strive To Be Great

In honor of Women’s History Month — The women who pushed me to be a better writer

Who was the first person that told you you were a good writer?

And I don’t mean the ring around people say to get someone out of their faces: “Good job, this paper is nice!” I mean the bright spark that sparks the mind after reading something that unexpectedly resonates with you. I mean the straightening of one’s posture and a shocking twist of features across someone’s face when they read your work and say, “This is really good. You’re a really good writer, do you write other things?” Okay maybe not in that order but, you can imagine what I mean: What was the first thing you wrote that gave someone the ‘wow factor’? Who was the first one to push you?

When was the day you realized you had the power to move someone with your words?

And at the moment, one out of ten stars, how would you rate how convincing they were that you were any good? This isn’t just a random post I want real unapologetic answers. A lot of us in this community started out in the pit of doubt, swimming in the darkness trying to figure out whether or not we, as well as our work, belong in the pit or deserve to climb to the top and reveal the colors of our souls to the light. I’ll tell you that the first person that told me I was a good writer is a woman. A woman who was among others to played a huge role in how I use my pen to conduct and compose the works that speak what’s on my heart and mind.

It took a village to raise this voice. Women who were educators that gave me lessons that continue to apply to not only writing but my everyday life.

I Can Name Three Teachers And Three Situations — I’ll Keep Their Anonymity Instead

Weird headline, I know. But I bet it made you ask why. Why am I going to tell the stories of teachers that inspired me but not tell their names? Well, one of them is no longer a teacher. So unfortunately, you or your children may not experience who she is as an educator. Two is the caveat of the story. They have no idea they have had such an effect on me. And they will most likely never see this article. Because they probably think I am doing NOTHING relating to writing. Let alone writing poems! I think they’d lose their damn minds. In a good way. I told them all I was going to law school.

If they do ever come across this reading and recognize themselves in this article, well, I guess it will be a lovely surprise.

I want to give an honorable mention to a teacher I had in elementary school because she is no longer with us. Technically, because of her, my mother is the first woman that told me I am a good writer. One night after school I came home with a paper that the teacher wrote out, but she wanted us to write it again. It was on a level superior to what I wrote as a seven year old fourth grader. The grammar? Perfect. Prose? even better. At least for a seven year old. I remember feeling terrible because every night until the paper was due the teacher would add a paragraph.

We’d copy the essay as homework and have our parents check it out before turning it in the next day. On and on until it was a standard structured, five paragraph essay on God remembers what.So, following directions I give my mother the paper to analyze the sentences. She had this look on her face, this expression of shock and awe, she was obviously impressed by my sentences. But I knew the truth and it was frustrating because the words were given to me and my mother was impressed by the work of someone else. I wasn’t proud of impressing my mother with this essay that was written in the exact words and format as everyone else in the class. They weren’t my words.

Baby Bambzi didn’t know it then, but I was finally going to get that look from someone. It inspires me now to never give up on my craft.

The first time I experienced this I was in middle school. I was a quiet, hide behind the desk type sixth grader who had no respect for homework or literature for that matter. I took the time in her classes for granted. I had an English teacher who broke the stereotype of what it looked like to be a bibliophile, a literarian and voice of the young people, for the young people to accept themselves and never be afraid to be these things as well.

For namesake I’ll call her Miss G. Miss G was a patient educator. And I mean a very patient educator.She was a young black woman ready to take on the world and give the tools to the youth that will have to utilize them once the torch was passed. However, she expected your undivided attention. She expected her work on time. She expected the best you could be in her classroom. But she knew it would take time.

Miss G was my english teacher for two of my middle school years. She welcomed us in and send us off. And I thank her, for showing us we have a voice, and for her patience for us to discover how they sound. I thank her for pushing me to entertain my creative side after seeing a drop of potential in me.

Never Ball Up Paper In This Classroom

I unfortunately took many opportunities to show my potential for granted. The second time I was given an opportunity was in my ninth grade year. My sister had this teacher years prior and she always told me stories about her. We’ll call her Mrs. R. When I finally had her as a freshmen in high school, I got everything my sister promised me.

There were also things she didn't tell me. Like, her policy on balling up a piece of paper in her classroom. It may have not have carried a huge message with her rule. Maybe it could’ve been something to keep from disrupting peace in her classroom with the chorale of frustration.

But it did for me was much deeper than that.

Anyway, her eyes cut like machetes in your direction and she’d make you flatten out the sheet of paper and keep writing. She found the idea disrespectful. The point of it was to teach us if you have an idea don’t give up on it 100%. Utilize the tools you have to make your ideas stronger. And yes, to keep it clean in her classroom. And save the trees.

From sophomore year forward I couldn’t allow myself to ball another sheet of paper up. It feels wrong to even think about it. I went to different classes in my upperclassmen years and the teacher let people crumble away. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I relapsed once to the habit of crumbling paper in frustration, writing an essay in college for an art history course. I realized after years of not doing it how disruptive it could be to my creative flow.

You know the popcorn fuzz that comes across your television when you lose signal — how loud the noise is? It’s distracting isn’t it? Makes your completely lose your thoughts. That’s how I feel about crumbling paper in the middle of my writing sessions. I lose my flow and I sit for while facing writer’s block. So here’s a thank you, Mrs.R for teaching me how to control how I use my voice in my words. And that my choice to be lazy with what skill I have will get me no reward.

The last I want to mention is a professor I had in college. I’ll call her Dr.B. Now if you’ve read any of my articles about writing you’d know that I had a pretty shitty beginning in my college english courses. I didn’t feel like my writing mattered again until I took one of her courses. I remember being called to her office one day thinking I was going to get scolded for yet another late assignment. But she didn’t. We sat and talked for a while after class — over one of my essays. It was for an exam, not sure which class anymore — but it was something that caught her eye.

And yes, she had that look on her face.

I, of course almost missed it. She said something along the lines of: “Your writing is good. I really enjoyed the way you explained this period.”

It was one of the many times I was hyped up by her. She really enjoyed the way I wrote about history. It made me want to do better. I even joined a writing forum talking about my college experiences. I had finally gotten that look — the look baby Bambzi didn’t realize she’d be looking for.

The validation that yes: Your words matter and your writing is worth talking about. You have a voice here, and it is incredible.

Fast forward to the end of my senior year of college. I unexpectedly earn an award. I was the only recipient for this award and I, ironically believed it was for someone else. There was a speech, inspiring and thoughtful and I wondered who could this be that inspired this already inspiring woman?

Until she called my name. For Excellence in Writing.

This was a pivotal moment, because to me, it was confirmation .

I am a good writer and I can be better.

I hope to one day of many more on this writing journey. There is something amazing in the power of moving someone with the power of words. And to the women mentioned, thank you.

You made a dream chaser, and I will never forget what you’ve done for me.