There's a saying that 'there is always a first time in life'. I have realised that life is the best teacher, it's full of surprises and one can learn from experiences throughout the life. My passion is writing. I always wanted to be a writer, which is the sole reason why I choose it as a career.
The event I am talking about is actually one event; it was experience, spanning the course of a school year, the end of my sophomore and beginning of my junior years in college. More characterised than that, it was a class. Well, two subjects, with one lecturer, and the second was only a continuation of the first from the former semester. The class was Literature and Law, whereas it should have been called 'Literature and Law and Tons of Writing'. It engaged reading pieces of literature that in some way engaged the legal/justice system. Three papers were due throughout the course of the semester, the topic for each being selected by the student from a pool of options in relative to some distinct parts of work.
Upon going into this class, I was fairly confident with my writing styles. Comments from previous lecturers had boosted this grade of self-assurance.
Yet it precedes more distant back than that…third degree graduation, accolades granted out to each scholar, some of them random and a conspicuous extend to find some accolade for those scholars who actually had not anything awardable. “And for Gerry, the awards for best recess etiquette…” my teacher proclaimed. And then my title was announced. “For Stephanie Thomas, the accolades for best creative writer”, she said with unmistaken enthusiasm. Even at the tender age of nine, I sensed like I justified it, that I was being paid for an ability I really sensed ...