Journal Entry

Monday, August 25, 2008
Mr. Joseph Griffin,

Writing creates a caddywhompus of emotions for me: From disdain to contentment. Historically speaking, I began my elementary through high school career as being a rather avid writer. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to take time out of my usually active day to write something, whether it be poetry, or stories, or just notes to friends. It seemed that writing was the one form of outlet of emotions that you can trust. You can tell the paper anything, and it doesn’t bite you in the ass (unless of course that paper were to be seen by others’ eyes). You can reflect any thoughts or ideas, and no negative commentary is received. It seemed like the perfect listener. And then I arrived at high school.
My parents had decided for me that Honors English would be the best course of action for me in order to further my abilities in English and Reading - perhaps one of the most fulfilling and devastating experiences I’ve known thus far. The passion to write was siphoned from me when the dreaded task of two-column note-taking began. While reading novels, we were required to take notes for Honors English, and plenty of notes at that. I distinctly remember having to complete 32 pages minimum of notes for Great Expectations, and feeling a more delightful alternative was to spoon out my eyes. The analytical aspect of writing wasn’t the issue, it was the quantity of rather useless note-taking. Rather than making the assignment justifiably more reasonable, by basing the grade on the quality of notes, it fell onto the quantity my freshman year. Luckily, that grading system started to fall into place as the years went on.
Essays weren’t perhaps as miserable as notes, but were still quite abysmal. Essays in Honors English were preferred to present the facts, and analysis of the literature we read. Practical, yes… But it allowed much of the creative writing I was so used to fall into a state of decline. The essays became bland and mechanical, seeming as if I were the computer creating these repetitive tablets of ink. This trend sadly, didn’t change.
The decline in my creative juices lead to the downfall of my passion in writing, which perhaps influenced my 3 on the AP exam. I felt by the time I got to the exam, that all forms of life in me had been sucked out and spewed all over four years of superfluous writings, and timed tests, etc. etc. My goal for this class is to perhaps get some of those juices going again, and to enjoy writing once more.
Writing still takes a part in my life, as I write poetry from time to time, but the memories of thinking of writing as a way to truly express myself in a scholarly manner, is long gone.

-Samuel Mack