Literacy Narrative

Inspiration to Start, and Inspiration to Change

The first time I read the novel, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, I immediately noticed I was reading something entirely different from all literature I had read before then. As a lifelong fan of the fantasy genre, I was proud of how I could absorb these great tomes of words quickly. However, one day my high school AP Literature teacher made us read a book for 15 minutes in class –apparently, she thought us AP students weren’t reading enough– so I picked up this random book. I didn’t think much of it from the outside: obviously smaller than the books I prided myself on reading, did not seem to have any action, but as soon as I read the first paragraph I knew I had something in my hands completely unlike anything any books I had read before.

 The book follows a young man trying to find treasure, while at the same time he finds his destiny. It felt like the text had become a tangible sea of words that I swam through with grace. I just reread the previous sentence and I know that it sounded super corny, but I honestly felt that way. Every time before then –when I was reading– it had felt like I was being transported to another world, but when I sank my teeth into The Alchemist it felt like his world became real, and for the entire rest of the day I was walking around in a stupor trying to find my own treasure.

Now you may read that and think that since I read The Alchemist, I was incensed to try to develop vivid imagery to bring my writing to life, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t try. In fact, I tried for a long time to make my writing seem like it was something with real weight behind, and every time I reread my work it didn’t sound like literature, it sounded like somebody trying to pretend they were a better writer than they really were.

Now don’t confuse what I write for some sort of pity trip that I’m trying to bring you on, because I ended up learning something from this failure: not to try to write what I like to read, write what I want to write.

For me, that is trying to make my topic funny to me. When I wrote about things that made me laugh, I started to actually care about what I was saying. A side effect to that was that it actually ended up making my writing better! No longer did I insist upon long-winded stanza longer bogged down by flowery details nobody understood, instead I figured out something much more useful, making my writing interesting. The fat was cut off and I found I could actually read my writing out loud without having to pause because I have 35 adjectives placed one after the other.

The concept of writing what makes me laugh was in reality me finding my own voice. Therefore, the above paragraph, stating how my newfound comedic voice made my writing easier to read relates quite well to how Peter Elbow believes reading one’s work out loud improves the diction. Coming from Elbow himself, “students… are more likely to listen to their words and write sentences that are inviting and comfortable to speak, which, in turn, makes the sentences better for readers.” Am I reading always reading my writing out loud? No; I don’t have that kind of time. However, I am definitely paying more attention to what I write: baby-steps!

With the rise of all things must also come the fall: at least that’s what my fall of civilization professors told me, and my newfound writing style was no exception. While overly professional essays were not working out for me; turns out, making a bunch of jokes in a professional essay is not very conducive to receiving a good grade either. Once again, my writing style did not fit. You might think I changed it completely once again, but I am much too lazy. Instead, I combined my previous two styles; I kept the tone lighter but tried to make what I was writing worthwhile.

While being free and going with your particular style works on some occasions, if somebody is not in the mood for your shenanigans, they aren’t going to have nearly as fun reading it as you did write it. However, nobody likes to read the long-winded formal essays that every English major pulls out of their back pocket at a moment’s notice. Therefore, you have to blend the styles, which I have done and continue to try to do.

To add to that previous idea, another crucial detail I have learned is that I have to remember I am writing to be read. In a more defined way, always imagine that someone reading your work –English is a language, and the whole purpose of a language is to have an interaction with another human being. No matter what is said –in the words of Toni Morrison– all that matters is that what being said is a thing “we have done – together.”

My effort to blend these styles is still very much a work in progress, but I am making progress, and every time I sit down to write I can tell I am writing less as a person trying to receive a grade and am letting my own voice shine through in a way that benefits the writing instead of hampering it –a voice that connects with the reader. The jury is still out on whether it’s really working, I guess only time, and my professors will tell me. Back up actually: let’s not forget about the most important person to find out who will figure out if my writing is working, ME. If there’s anything that this essay was about it was about how I learned to write for MYSELF, therefore I am the only one I really have to prove at the end of the day, and thus I hope I can come through to the person on the other side of the words.