The Metamorphosis of a Writer by Allison

The Metamorphosis of a Writer by Allison - July 2014 Scholarship Essay

As a naive, incoming 5th grader, I had heard many rumors about my new teachers. The ones about my math, science/social studies, and reading teachers were reassuring, but the ones about Mrs. Cormier, the writing teacher, filled me with terror. She had lost her daughter years ago in a car accident, which made everyone sympathetic, but she was painted by past students as a gruesome villain who always yelled and graded harshly. Everyone said that she was a vile, Trunchbull like teacher, and when she was feeling angry or sad, she was a fire breathing dragon that didn’t mind torching the self esteem of a budding writer. I was scared stiff of her, and I dreaded the new class.

Yet, the first class was not what I had expected. My class entered a large, but inviting room as cozy as buttered toast with large, marshmallow-like bean bags for chairs. We sat down tentatively, everyone in my class was waiting for the horrifying monster who would teach us for the next ten months. When Mrs. Cormier entered the doorway, all talking was snuffed out like a candle. She did not look like the ghastly witch rumor said she was. I saw a tired looking woman who had the sorrows of the world etched into her face and body. She briskly started her class by immediately saying we should write for 5 minutes in our notebook about anything at all. I was pleasantly surprised because I was never able to enjoy that freedom in prior years. After the five minutes were up, Mrs. Cormier threw a curveball at us and picked 3 people to share what they wrote (I have never been big on sharing my work, so luckily I wasn’t picked the first day.) Following the initial shock of being treated like we were important people with significant ideas, she launched into a lesson about the basic parts of a personal narrative. Everyone in my class sat up straight in our extraordinarily comfortable bean bag chairs and took notes so that we could write to her expectations if she ever politely demanded a personal narrative. It was serendipitous that we all paid attention, because when the bell rang she assigned us a personal narrative due the next day!

Every week we had one writing piece due. I was still amazed every time Mrs. Cormier said we could write about anything at all. I benefited from the independence she gave us because I had never enjoyed writing with guidelines. As my imagination grew, so did my ideas. I wrote short stories and poetry, and captured the small musings of my growing awareness of the world. As my repertoire of writing pieces grew, so did my confidence and style. Mrs. Cormier invalidated every rumor about her because she taught me many things about writing. She taught the whole class, but she made her lessons feel like she was giving her personal attention to you and you alone. Some days when I think the death of her daughter was affecting her most were days she would never smile or encourage her students. No matter what type of mood she was in, I learned lots, and I will gratefully admit that Mrs. Cormier gifted me with the basis of how to write at the level I am now.

By the end of the year my feelings about writing had changed from hesitation, to confidence. I had discovered a new love for writing. Besides learning how to write, Mrs. Cormier taught me not to judge people before you meet them. Every year, I am determined to honor that noble lady by growing in my capabilities as a writer and as a person.