(Source: Facebook, mine)
The opening line to my first RR at the beginning of the semester said this:
“I do not consider myself a creative writer. I have the ability to write well when necessary, but I never experience the overwhelming urge to write in length about almost anything.”
Though I still don’t usually write of my own volition, I definitely feel as though I have grown as a writer this semester. In fact, just the other day when we were doing our WN describing what it feels like to wait for a package or letter to come in the mail, I found I had grown. Part of me wanted to ignore the creative idea I had, be lazy, and just describe my basic feelings. Instead, I wrote more than a page. I wanted to share what I wrote here.
It’s 4:13pm and I’m finally home from school. It’s a Tuesday. I pull into the driveway, park the car, and gather my belongings. I know it’s too early for the mail, but I can’t help but check anyway. I lug my backpack down the driveway, balance myself on the curb (careful to avoid stepping both in the street and in the flower bed), and peek inside the mail box. Nothing. I hunch over just to make sure nothing is shoved in the back. I pull out what seems like 18 pounds of political ads, a pack of junk mail, and the garbage bill. It didn’t come today after all. Maybe tomorrow.
It’s 9:28pm. I’m home from another long day at school. It’s Wednesday. I gather up my books and walk back down the driveway to check the mail box. It’s empty. I trudge back up the driveway to the front porch. I struggle to maintain a grip on my armload of school supplies as I wrestle my keys out of my pocket. Just as I stick my key in, the door flies open, and I see my smiling husband welcoming me home. He graciously offers to take my books from me, which, I gratefully accept. I ask him casually if he got the mail today, and he lets me know it’s sitting on the table. And there it is – the perfect Christmas gift for my friend. I rip open the packing and hold the surprisingly small book in my hands: A Survival Guide for Landlocked Mermaids. Yes, my best friend is a mermaid.
I, the “non-writer,” am actually considering continuing on with this piece and finding where I end up with it. That, people, is significant growth.