Monthly Archives: February 2013

Essay 1 Cover Letter

Essay 1

Success Through Failure

At 10:00 am sharp, Mr. Kanyuk would burst into room 306 and make his way to the chalkboard in quick strides. He always carried a heap of handouts and, depending on whether or not he owed us graded papers, a big manila folder. As he placed the pile carefully on his oak desk, I’d notice his body relax slightly.

It was almost like watching a robot transform into a human. The tense, blank facial expression that I usually saw in the hallways became somewhat calmer in the classroom. The rigid posture slowly melted away. And his eyes, usually void of emotion, suddenly looked like they were full of life. After taking a quick look around the classroom, he’d sift through the pile until he found his sheet of notes, then turn to write our first assignment on the board. Often times, he would quietly hum too. He’d gaze back at his sheet after writing each sentence and slightly bob his head as if he were listening to a great song rather than reading through his notes. And when he finished, he would put the chalk down, walk around to the front of his desk and sit there in silence with his arms folded, watching us calmly.

We would chatter on like a choir of angry birds, but within a minute, the noise would dwindle to silence and Mr. Kanyuk would have our attention. You could hear a pen click or a chair squeak. His silence was always loud enough to shut us up fairly quickly.

But one morning in February of 2009, I sat among the angry birds in silence. As Mr. Kanyuk waited for the class to quiet down, my eyes darted to the big manila folder that, I was pretty sure, contained our graded papers on what it means to be human.

Mr. Kanyuk finally cleared his throat and announced that he finished grading everyone’s papers. My heart skipped a few beats and my body tensed. He had the class take a vote on when he should return our papers, and not surprisingly, all of us voted to have our papers given back right away.

This was it.

I was the third student to receive my essay. I held my breath as he came to me with my paper in his outstretched hand, looping the sheets in half in order to cover my grade from any onlookers. I took a deep breath and peeked at the grade he’d written on top. “F.”

For a minute I went numb. Then I read what he wrote underneath that grade: Please see me after class.

I could not think straight. My class had to discuss the first few chapters of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead that day, but I didn’t pay the slightest attention. All I could think about was that grade.

I couldn’t fathom how he could possibly think that this paper I spent so much time on was bad. Had I completely missed the point of that assignment? Did I make too many mistakes? Did I write too little? Or too much?

After fifty minutes of spacing out and worrying about this paper, I practically ran straight to my teacher. I wanted to understand why he didn’t like my essay. This one grade was already beginning to make me doubt my talent as a writer. In fact, I was heart-broken. I was worried that maybe I wasn’t as good a writer as I always thought. Was I only fooling myself?

We sat down to talk after the class left, and I was relieved to see that his human side was still there. The chalkboard was crammed with notes from that day’s class, and on his desk sat a battered copy of The Fountainhead, his sheet of notes and a messy pile of extra handouts. He gestured for me to hand him my paper and I relaxed a little, but I was still worried. He made space on his desk and then browsed through my essay as if to re-familiarize himself with it. These were his first words: “I could that tell you worked really hard on this. It’s definitely well-written, no punctuation or spelling errors, and that’s great. But, my concern is, when you’re describing humans, you’re not digging deep enough.” I nodded and allowed him to continue, expecting this to be a one-way conversation. But to my surprise, he said: “Forget about this paper for a minute and tell me, in your own words, what you think it means to be a human being. Don’t think in terms of physical attributes, think of human behavior or attitudes. How are they psychologically, or emotionally?” He folded his arms and stared at me, waiting.

“Well,” I mumbled, “Humans are not perfect… They make mistakes. And they feel many emotions…” I paused. “They’re complex… They’re rational people.”

“Okay, great start,” he said. “But let me ask you something. If I didn’t have arms, or hands, or legs, would that mean I’m no longer human?” I answered right away, “Of course not.”

But then he gave me a slight smirk and pointed to my paper. “But your essay seems to argue otherwise. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Aahhhh… Right.” And in that moment I looked at my paper with new eyes. I was beginning to understand what I needed to do to improve this piece. He went through my paper in more detail and discussed which parts I should consider keeping or eliminating, and by the end of our meeting, my essay was practically splattered with green ink. He had crossed out about half of the writing on my first page, and small notes were scribbled along the margins with no white space left to spare. He must have seen the look on my face as I noticed this, because before I left, he said, “Don’t be discouraged by the grade, I know you’re a good writer. Just take your time with this re-write and think about what I said. The comments are there to help you.”

For the next two days I worked really hard on that re-write, and I ended up with an A-. Below that grade read the comment: This is a big improvement from your first paper. Very well-written. Keep up the good work. I couldn’t help but smile with pride.

It was actually at that point when I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. I decided that I wanted to become a writer. I was now confident that I could hone my skills and grow as a writer like I did in that class. And I was no longer afraid to look into a book that had enough difficult phrases to sound like a completely different language. But even more importantly, I couldn’t have made this decision without my teacher’s encouragement. Although he made it clear that a failing grade or negative feedback should not discourage me, I found that this one failure motivated me to make that choice.

British poet Carol-Ann Duffy, who also discovered her love for writing in the classroom, was appointed as Britain’s Poet Laureate in 2009. She was the first female to be appointed in 341 years, which is an amazing accomplishment, but her journey to that point was not smooth. Duffy also had to deal with rejection at a young age. In her interview with The Independent, she noted that her father always used to tell her: “get a job, get a proper job.” Her father may have intended to discourage her, but according to Duffy, it did the complete opposite. She told her interviewer, “Part of my vocational sense about poetry is to do with asserting the space that poetry can have. It’s as important as anything else, because it’s the music of being human.” Her father’s words did not faze her, but they pushed her to become even more committed to her craft. She continued to believe that poetry was important, despite the fact that her father didn’t support her career decision.

I identify with her because of the way that she used this discouragement to push herself. It must have been painful to hear that her father was not supportive of her decision, and even though my experience was not exactly the same, I understand that rejection and disappointment can be the biggest motivation to push us forward. It’s interesting, but at times these failures are what we need in order to succeed. I really admire the fact that Duffy followed her heart and used her father’s negative words to fuel her determination, much like my first failure inspired me.

Sources:

Patterson, Christina. “Carol Ann Duffy: ‘I Was Told to Get a Proper Job'” The Independent. Independent Digital News and Media, 10 July 2009. Web. 19 Feb. 2013.

“But the secret of good writing is to strip every sentence to its cleanest components. Every word that serves no function, every long word that could be a short word, every adverb that carries the same meaning that’s already in the verb, every passive construction that leaves the reader unsure of who is doing what–these are the thousand and one adulterants that weaken the strength of a sentence.” (Zinsser, 6-7)

I couldn’t agree more with this statement. It’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever heard, because as Zinsser mentioned, most people love to assume that there is something wrong with a simple sentence. They insist on making it complicated or wordy, and this only confuses the reader or listener. I admit that I used to overuse the thesaurus when writing essays in the past because I had a similar mindset. For some reason, I believed that simple sentences made me sound too dull. I’d right click on random words for synonyms and replace them with terms that I never even heard of. But as long as they sounded fancy enough, I went along with it. It took me a little while to realize that what I was doing actually made my writing sound worse, but I eventually stopped overusing that thesaurus tool and trusted myself to come up with the right words. This doesn’t mean that I never use it at all, but I definitely keep it to a minimum. I now understand that simplicity is always the way to go. Getting the right message across is more important than trying to sound intelligent. It’s the key to writing well, and it’s likely to draw more readers.

Strapped into the massive white donut of a machine, I prayed the images it produced would be tumorless.

Mesmerized by the television sets in the waiting rooms, I prayed the images they transmitted were exaggerated.

(pages 240-241: from the last paragraph on 240)

I absolutely love this transition. I think this paragraph break is particularly effective because of the way that she juxtaposes her CT scan images with what she has to witness on her television on 9/11. It’s such a relevant comparison. She goes through the worst, most traumatizing experience of her life, having a near-death experience and being misdiagnosed. In that last line on page 240, readers can clearly visualize the state that she’s in and identify with her feelings, considering the fact that she already lost so much. She prays that the images her CT scan produces are good. And then she successfully shifts to the equally tragic event of 9/11 by praying that the images transmitted on television of that disaster are not real, but exaggerated. It’s almost as if there’s a deeper connection between these two events, and as a reader I feel like the writer somehow identifies with the people who were affected by that tragedy. She may not have lost a loved one in the literal sense, but her experience was just as painful and her life drastically changed. She also pointed out that no amount of money could make up for what she had to endure, and I feel like several victims of 9/11 had a similar mindset. Also, I love that she uses repetition as well; from I prayed the images it produced to I prayed the images they transmitted. That method also makes this paragraph break very effective. I really like the connection she makes here.

Essay 1 Draft Cover Letter

Essay 1 Draft

British poet Carol Ann Duffy was appointed poet laureate of the United Kingdom in May of 2009, making her the first woman to do be appointed in over three centuries. Such a remarkable achievement makes me think of the importance of education and of how empowering it is to be able to write well. It also serves as a reminder of the importance of literature and poetry, because they play a huge role in all of our lives, regardless of which career paths we take. We are all required to write at some point, and being able to do so effectively is important. For this reason, poet laureates are like the beacons of hope, because they continue to promote poetry and literary education around the world.

During the same year that Duffy was appointed for this job, I had the pleasure of taking one of the most difficult English courses I’ve ever had in my life. I had signed up for AP English Literature, expecting my teacher to prepare us exclusively for the one exam that could get us all college credit. But what I signed up for was something completely different. My teacher’s passion for writing was evident in every lecture, but even more importantly—it was contagious. I like to think that I was somehow able to absorb that passion for writing. And although the process was still a struggle for me, I was always proud of the final product. I was pushed to write on some of the most difficult topics that I never thought I could handle. But when I ended up writing so many strong papers, I felt so much pride. The feeling was indescribable.

I got my first failing grade on a paper about what it means to be human. It was the first paper that I had to write. I had spent several days on it, and I truly believed that it was one of the best essays I’d ever written. But once I got my paper back, I read my teacher’s comment below the green F: Please see me after class. I had never gotten a failing grade on a paper before, and throughout that entire class, all I could think about what that grade. I couldn’t fathom how he could possibly think that this paper I had spent so much time on was bad. After fifty minutes of spacing out and worrying about that assignment, I practically ran straight to my teacher. I wanted to understand why he didn’t like my paper. This one grade was already beginning to make me doubt my talent as a writer. I was worried that maybe I wasn’t as good a writer as I always thought. We sat down for about half an hour to discuss my paper, and by the time our meeting was done, I understood exactly what I needed to do to improve my piece. I appreciated my teacher’s honesty, even though most of it was hard to hear. But what stuck out for me was his positivity. He gave me a second shot a re-write, and I ended up with an A-. Below that grade read the comment: This is a big improvement from your first paper. Very well-written. Keep up the good work.

It was actually at that point when I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. I decided that I wanted to become a writer. I was now confident that I could hone my skills and grow as a writer like I did in that class. And I was no longer afraid to look into a book that had enough difficult phrases to sound like a completely different language. But even more importantly, I couldn’t have made this decision without my teacher’s encouragement. He made it clear that a failing grade or negative feedback should not discourage me. My writing may not appeal to everyone, but regardless, criticism should challenge me to push myself. It’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever gotten, and I still use it today. I’m proud to say that I feel like I’m already several steps closer to inspiring the world with my writing. And this would be my greatest accomplishment.

One of the most memorable moments in my life occurred on the day of my high school graduation. I see it as a huge milestone because it signifies all the hard work I’ve done and how much I’ve grown, and not just in terms of age. This day marked the end of an amazing chapter in my life, even though my experience in high school was far from perfect. I ended up meeting some of the most amazing people, and I took great professors who inspired me and pushed me to excel. In fact, it was in high school that I decided I wanted to be a writer. Although my AP English course was the most challenging, it was still the most enjoyable, and to this day I’m still thankful to that English professor for helping me to hone my craft and develop a passion for writing.

On the day of my graduation, I got emotional. I was part of the graduating class of 2009, and the ceremony took place right on my high school’s campus. The weather was beautiful that day. Very sunny, but not too hot or too cold. The ceremony itself was mediocre—it had its great parts and its boring parts. But after the ceremony, when I got the chance to find all of my friends and professors in the crowd, or to see the look on my parents’ faces when I found them, I was truly happy in a way that words couldn’t describe. My eyes began to water several times that day, but at the same time, I was just overwhelmed. I knew all along that I would be parting ways with a lot of people, but it seemed like the truth suddenly began to sink in on that day. But at the same time, I was happy and impatient to move on to the college life. It was a bittersweet feeling.

One historical event that I think may relate to this is the appointment of Carol Ann Duffy as poet laureate of the United Kingdom on May 1, 2009. She was the first female in 341 years to be appointed as poet laureate, which I think is a phenomenal achievement. It’s very inspiring, and I imagine that many people acknowledged this achievement and felt really proud, because this woman was making history. I’m associating this historical moment with feelings of pride and joy, which is exactly what I felt during my graduation day. Not only was an amazing experience, but it also signified the beginning of a new and exciting future.

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