A friend of mine, known as Myself, asked me today, “Why are you so brutal? Tearing apart their writing like this, won’t it stunt them as a writer?”
I looked at Myself for a long moment, and told Myself, “When I started writing, I was told that I couldn’t do it, or that I was writing poorly, or I told myself that I couldn’t even speak, how was I to write. I almost gave up. I almost stopped writing the Stories that my mind screamed for me to tell. Then a teacher told me what I was doing wrong. She told me I had a talent, one that may have been small, but needed to be pursued to go. She told me every little thing I did wrong. She never let any little cliche pass. To this day, I believe she wrote a letter that my English teachers have passed on. One ignored me, taught me nothing, but in that she taught my to be spiteful, to speak out. Another looked down upon me, tried to fail me again and again, treated me like nothing until she told me in the last few weeks, a simple thing that stuck with me.”
“What did she say?” Myself replied. I looked at Myself for a hard and long moment, unable to decide how to tone my own voice in my reply.
I decided after a moment, to go with a calm and hard voice and said, “She said I wasn’t loud enough. That spite I learned, it came in handy. I took on the role of Tybalt in the class play of Romeo and Juliet- the little one, for our class of twenty-seven or so students. I went from being the kid who stuttered, to the grand and all mighty Tybalt, who remained tall even in death. I understood then, what I was doing in my writing.”
“My latest teacher taught me to look past my boundaries. She drove me to want to impress her, to do so well that I’d get her attention. Because at the start of the year, I was nothing but the stuttering little push over. But, by the end of it, I was the girl who researched science to prove my literary points. I was the girl, who spoke up to her and sassed her during class. I was the student that would read and edit and tear apart my own writing. I was the girl who was resourceful, who was kind, who understood humanity on a level that humans with degrees couldn’t understand.”
“So, by tearing their writing apart, by being brutal with my critiques and comments, I was pushing the writers. Because any writer on this site believes that they can do it. They just need to shoved a little, pushed a little. They need to be told that they need to get back up.”
“By tearing them apart, I am able to hand them the needle and thread and tell them to do it again, to do it better, because as long as they can do it, they can do anything. Many men say that it takes one voice to make a hundred heard. But, they always forget the people who shove and tug and push that first voice to realize that they are the voice that needs to stand up.”
“Humanity is a fragile thing, and with it comes it’s most powerful weapon- the word of mind. Thus, we must teach through not cruelty, but reality. Because only then, can a person see past reality and back to the imaginary. As you need to see both, to bring them together.”
That kept running though my mind with every critique. I suppose it’s a inspiration, or perhaps an odd poem. Either way, it’s advice.
I also hardcore relate to my featured image. I love Castiel so much.
My question: When you read about a character, what do you do? Do you cry for them, or cry for the “us” you created with the character?