OPINION: In the first English class I took in college, my professor, Jeremy Parker, sent an announcement that I reflect on often. He wrote, “If you’re telling yourself you write like sh*t, the only way to write better is to prove it. Prove you write like sh*t. Write a sh*tty story. Prove it to yourself. Prove it to me. Prove you’re sh*t and you will get better…the first draft is perfect merely by existing. Going from nothing to something is the hardest thing you can do.” This advice has stuck with me until now, in my senior year.
For students like myself, having permission to write imperfectly feels foreign since we’re trained to craft our writing through the lens of achieving a certain grade or word count. His words serve as an important reminder that you don’t need to be proud of the first thing you write. Most of the time, all you can do is write for the sake of writing. Even if it’s not something you would turn in to a professor, writing stimulates personal growth and pushes you farther than you thought possible.
Writing is also a mirror, as it forces you to truly see and reflect upon yourself and your reality. This insight doesn’t specifically occur in a refined essay; it can happen in a fragmented sentence written in your notes app, a journal entry or even scrawled on the palm of your hand. This is why, in my opinion, writing grants us the power to understand, dissect and peel back the layers of our experiences. Whether it’s a sentence or a manuscript, it doesn’t have to be for anyone else besides yourself. It can be a secret treasure that only you cultivate and see.
As such, there doesn’t need to be concrete rules dictating what types of writing are acceptable, which can be difficult to comprehend as a student. Usually, writing on behalf of one’s education is placed under the microscope of a professor’s scrutiny. This makes it challenging to remember that we should be writing without the pressure of a grade.
In her essay “Why I Write,” Joan Didion explains writing as a method of discovering what she thinks. I resonate with this because it’s a dynamic, often unpredictable activity. Writing doesn’t simply record thoughts, but helps untangle them. In my experience, my best writing comes when I write without anyone else in mind, especially when the writing is not for school. This is why writing is necessary to practice: it’s a reminder to understand ourselves, not just to seek another’s approval.
If nobody reads or sees what I write, does that make it bad writing? My immediate answer is no. A page of jumbled words potentially won’t function as an assignment for school, but it still has an inherent purpose. When we dedicate our precious time to writing for approval or to meet rubric requirements, for example, it seems like a chore to be completed. I am encouraging you to remember that writing has permission to be treated as flawed. Writing can be ornate, messy and heartbreakingly beautiful. I don’t think there is a definition of what makes writing good; it simply exists like an otherworldly force.
Think of it this way: if you were unable to write anything for an entire month, how would your life be different? This could range from text messages, Instagram captions or even a simple to-do list. You write more than you think, and it makes life easier to digest. It doesn’t need to be good to matter. Going from nothing to something is enough.
