Since my class reunion, I’ve reflected a lot on those twelve years of school at Plainview High School. While I knew early in life that I wanted to write novels, some of my teachers shaped my mind and prepared me for what is now my profession.
In first grade, my teacher was Mrs. Brown. She was a wonderful, caring lady, and I loved being in her class. She noticed how much I loved reading and spelling. One day she showed me all the reading books in her closet from previous years. These were class books with numerous stories the former students had used during class, and like the publishers often do, they print new books every few years (nowadays, almost yearly) for the schools to buy for their classes to generate sales, even though the books the schools are using aren’t in poor condition. Mrs. Brown kept several books from each year and had tucked them on the shelves in her closet. She told me that if I promised to take care of the book, I could pick one to take home and read.
I chose one, took it home, read it immediately, and returned it the next day. I did this day after day until I had read each version (all with different stories) in her closet. She had knowingly expanded my vocabulary and imagination by allowing me the luxury of reading books I otherwise would never have had access to. She meant so much to me that I brought her Christmas cards each year, which always made her smile.
The more I read, the more I wanted to read. I had practically read all the books in our section of the library by fourth grade. On the CAT tests, my fourth grade results showed my reading level was equated to the first year of college. One day in the library, I noticed a book on Sea Monsters on the higher grade level shelves in the library. I wanted to read the book so badly that I asked the librarian, Mrs. Lynch, if I could check it out. She smiled and shook her head. “Those books are for the higher grades.” I told her that I could read it. She pulled the book off the shelf and opened it to a random page and asked me to read a paragraph. After I did, she seemed impressed and said, “Okay. you can check it out.” From then on, I could checkout any book from the upper grade section that I wanted.
When our class reached junior high, Mrs. Lynch became the librarian in the high school library. My senior year I worked in the library during my study hall, and I got to help her with the accession of new novels and how to categorize them. I learned a lot, but while preparing each novel, I skimmed through the opening chapters and found myself drawn into these worlds written by different authors. Places my mind wanted to experience. I had already written my first novel when I was eleven and realized how much I needed to improve my writing. Simply writing a story isn’t all an author needs to do. A great story sells because of how the words fall into place to create scenery, characters, dialogue, and suspense. I was a long way from being prepared to launch a novel out into the sea of readers.
However, I had learned the power of words through writing and how to captivate an audience in the sixth grade. Our teacher was Mrs. Etherton. One assignment we had been given was for each student to write a question that started with “Why doesn’t (don’t) …” These questions were folded and placed in a jar. Each of us had to take a question from the jar. I don’t remember the question I submitted, but I remember vividly the one I had drawn. The question I drew was: “Why Don’t Blackbirds Fight Like Game Chickens?” Lee Williams had submitted the question.
At first, I had no idea how to even start a story with this. I sat at the kitchen table that evening and wrote a story. We had to read these before the class, and I was a bit apprehensive about how others might view the story. As it turned out, they loved it. They were laughing so hard that I got tickled and almost couldn’t keep reading aloud. Even Mrs. Etherton was laughing. I tried to hand her the paper so she could finish it, but she shook her head and told me to continue. I did. Without realizing it, I had written something comedic and the listeners reacted in such a manner that I wanted to write material that registered with others and hoped to be able to develop worlds where others could find themselves lost in the stories.
In high school, the one teacher who taught me the basics and foundations of proper sentence structure was Ms. Tommie. Ms. Tommie was dear to my heart and I think of her often, even decades later. She was my English teacher for four years and acted like a counselor whenever I needed to ask for advice. She knew my home life, and she was always there.
I took her notes religiously and began working on another novel that I accidentally started in typing class. The opening sentences came unexpectedly and seemed magical in a sense. I asked her to read the first few pages, and she said that she liked what I had written thus far. During this time, I took a typing class because I wanted to be able to type faster and learn the proper mechanics to do so. I didn’t want to become a hen-pecking one or two finger typist. While some writers are able to do this efficiently, I found the process too cumbersome.
During my senior year, we had a guest teacher from NYC come to our class and lecture. I don’t recall the reason for the teacher’s visit now, but she was interesting. During a break between classes, Ms. Tommie told the lady about the book I was working on and she asked if she could read it. I had the first pages in my Trapper Keeper (remember those?). She read it and said that it was a great start. “Keep going.”
Without these great people prompting and encouraging me to improve my reading and writing, I might’ve had less incentive to pursue this vocation. Though I would’ve probably continued writing my stories, if only for myself, because creating worlds and characters is a part of how my mind operates. All my life I’ve asked, “What if?” questions. I try to understand why and how certain people act. I’m a people watcher. I evaluate. I’m skeptical, a critical thinker who asks, “Why?” far too often.
If you want adventure, get lost in a book. If you wish to escape reality, at least temporarily, submerge yourself in a book. There are so many worlds you can visit through reading. Yes, there’s television, but television numbs the mind, while reading activates it and broadens your vocabulary and outlook.