Today, while the Salerni family enjoys their first day at Universal Studios, I bring you an unprecedented guest post from Dread Daughter #1 — a young lady unafraid to confess her writing sins in front of the blogosphere and her parents, apparently confident that none of her past or future teachers follow my blog.
Eh, she’s probably right, there.
Confessions of a Compulsive Writer by Gabbey Salerni
Last year, my seventh grade teachers often asked me why I pulled out a pen and a notepad rather than a book during SSR time. I replied that I preferred writing, because I had difficulty staying focused on a book when I had a story I needed to write. Eventually, they let me write instead of read, but when I finished writing a story, they wouldn’t let me count it as a SSR book!
The truth is, school is one of my favorite places to do my creative writing —- usually during class, when the teacher just happens to be talking. So when my math teacher walked in and said, “Okay class, today we’re learning how to multiply polynomials,” I reached for my notebook and started writing.
However, this started to become a problem, especially when my math grades began to slip. I realized then that writing while the teacher was giving instruction probably wasn’t the best idea.
I’d already tried to do my writing during science class, but for some reason I couldn’t concentrate —- perhaps it had something to do with my teacher’s tendency to scream out parts of her sentence at random? Maybe, maybe.
My LA teacher didn’t mind me doing whatever in her class, because I was one of her A students —- but that was also the class where we were allowed to pick our seats. So I never got anything done, because I had my friend Rachel reading over my shoulder every second, despite my protests, and —- ahem —- threats.
Social Studies was the only class where I didn’t have a problem. The lights would often go out for a movie clip, during which I would “take notes”, or so my teacher assumed.
My notebooks were pretty much the only thing that got me through my most torturous class —- the dreaded Life Studies. When the teacher walked in and put a big poster diagram of the male reproductive system on the board, I knew exactly where to go.
I just hope I can get away with this stuff in eighth grade too.