Rhode-Elise St. Jacques
Prof. Gleason
Basic Writing Theory and Pedagogy
Literacy Narrative 1st draft
October 21, 2014
Writing Creatively
In the seventh grade, I had been in the United States for only two years. Though I believed it took me
less than one year to learn English, partly because on the first year
anniversary of my living in U.S. I told a teacher who was surprised at the
level of proficiency I had acquired in such a short time, I was still an ESL
student and did not quite feel comfortable expressing myself orally. Early on in the year, my
teacher, Ms. Claudia Cohen, gave us an assignment. Though I do not
remember the specifics of the assignment, I wrote a story entitled “Mr. Ching
Chong’s Surprise.” (I know
that this is a racist title but I did not realize that then). When my paper was
returned, it bled profusely due to the merciless attacks of Ms. Cohen’s red
pen. I made countless grammatical, punctuation, and sentence structure
errors. However what was pleasantly surprising to me were Ms. Cohen’s
comments. She loved my story. She found the story plot of this poor
Chinese man (I do not know why I chose to make this character Chinese considering
I had not yet met many Chinese people) being stalked by a secret abhorrer who
writes ominous notes to him, fun, clever and creative. That Ms. Cohen
liked my story in spite of the many grammatical errors taught me that I was a
writer, that I was funny, and that words can be used to convey and invoke
emotions if cleverly assembled on paper.
That I was now a writer meant that I
had purpose. This sad, lonely little Haitian girl was special.
Believing I was a writer meant that I would take several creative writing
courses in high school, eventually rewriting that pivotal seventh-grade
assignment and renaming the title character “Mr. Williams.” It
meant that every day I would effortlessly write short stories and what at
the time I thought was poetry. It led me to join the creative writing
club and be published in the school literary magazine for two consecutive
years. I was a writer. I had a way with words which meant I
had a way of gaining attention, which happened when teachers read my work
aloud to the class. I often used my way with words as a shock factor.
When in my ninth grade ESL class the teacher asked us to write
sentences using newly learned vocabulary, my word was ‘yearn,” I
boldly wrote on the board, “His kiss was so passionate that she yearned for
more.”
As time went on and I became less sad and less lonely, the ability to write effortlessly
faded away. After high school, it would be several years before I went
back into the classroom. I began to realize that I had been a
writer. Once back in school what I became was and is a student that
writes critical analyses, reading responses and research papers. Though
in college I won the 2012 National Black Writers Conference fiction writing contest, and though I was even featured in
the school paper a few times and in the first issue of the school’s literary
magazine, writing creatively no longer comes easily. The worst thing
is that I now need to be prompted. Though I am proud of my writing
accomplishments in college, they do nothing to sway away that mindset that when
it comes to writing, I lost something very special.
Today, though no longer writing short stories
and having long ago abandoned what I once called poetry, what “Mr. Ching
Chong’s Surprise” does for me when I sit in front of the blank screen of a
computer is remind me that if in the seventh grade, while attempting to master
the English language and having to manage two other languages in my mind, I succeeded in
conveying an entertaining story through a well-organized plot, I can find
the words to complete my assignments. “Mr. Ching Chong’s Surprise” has
become my motivator and my adviser in those times of
frustration, helping me to produce works that contain less grammatical
errors and more structured sentences, less hilarity and more scrutiny, free, I
hope, of prejudice but filled with respectful and uplifting language, and
though less imaginative, at the very least, passable!