When I entered college, I wasn’t sure about much. The one piece of knowledge that I did feel certain about was my inability to write. My sister was the writer in the family, and I admired her ability to communicate so beautifully through the written word. During my first semester of my freshman year at Duke, I was required to take a writing course. Dreading the class, I tried to find some way to avoid taking it, but there was no exception clause.
On the first day of class, we were given a short questionnaire to complete. We would keep the completed questionnaire, sealed in an envelope, until the end of the semester. I still have this questionnaire with my school materials. Scanning my answers, I found that I wrote the same statement six times: I am NOT a writer.
Although I resisted this course with practically every ounce of my being, it is probably the most influential course I ended up taking. It forced me to challenge everything I believed about myself (in particular, sticky labels like “non-writer”) and to overcome my fear of putting pen to paper.
Rough drafts are ROUGH, not PERFECT.
Seriously? I couldn’t believe this statement when I heard my professor say it the first time. I can only imagine what I thought at the time: “Oh… okay, so I’ll spend six hours editing the draft rather than seven.” When we were given our first assignment to write within a 20-minute period, I had to let go of the need to be perfect and write a rough draft. It was painful, but necessary to finally understand that writing is more about the process than the final product.
Criticism is helpful, not defeating.
In my all-or-nothing mind, criticism was not something that one asked for within the world of academics. It was akin to failure and just a nicer way for someone to comment: “why would you turn in something so horrible?” But each paper we turned in was critiqued prior to grading, which meant we had the opportunity to incorporate the comments into our writing before we received a grade. By the end of the semester, I was practically begging for comments that would help me to improve my work. The lessons I learned from these diverse and thoughtful suggestions were priceless, and I realized that criticism was something that helps us immensely in our academic careers. It is rare to get a teacher or mentor who is willing to help you along the way; when you do, relish the opportunity with gratitude.
Writing is not a skill, but an action.
While I won’t debate the nature-versus-nurture theory of writing prowess, I know that one can’t write without taking action. Regardless of one’s DNA, words don’t get written without the movement from brain to pen or keyboard. Showing up to write is 90% of the battle. It doesn’t get easier along the way—or at least it hasn’t yet for me.
But, I have nothing new to say!
This thought was my main concern. I absorbed knowledge like a sponge, but didn’t like to challenge it. I couldn’t imagine questioning something that I didn’t feel I was already an expert on, like life or psychology or writing. In reality, we all have something new to say, regardless of our experience. This realization clicked for me while working with children. If I could learn so much from them, I had no excuse for not throwing my opinion into the ring for discussion.
What are you trying to say?
This question is the anchor for my writing today. It grounds me to the topic at hand and minimizes the number of tangents. In this piece, what am I trying to say? Better yet, what are you trying to say?
{image: yvette inufio photography}
I received an email yesterday from someone who had recently read my book, 
I write to understand better – myself and other people. I write to communicate and connect, usually first in my journal and then onto a legal notepad, and finally by typing as quickly as I can. I lose track of time and the world beyond my paper and pen in these sacred moments. And I love to write, the actual process versus the completion or end point, which is hard to say about most “obligations” in life.
