September 4 question - Since it's back to school time, let's talk English class. What's a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer?
Thanks to my sixth-grade teacher, I literally became anxious to the point of panic attack when I even thought about outlining fictional work. I was okay with outlining essays, but making an outline for a story nauseated me.
Let's call this teacher Professor Dullard. I was a shy, sensitive, awkward kid who hated gym, was bad at math, did okay in science, and excelled at writing. One of the skills assessment tests we took in the fifth grade indicated that I was writing at an eighth-grade level. Although I didn't really like myself very much, I was proud to be an advanced writer.
Professor Dullard was a man obsessed with outlines. Looking back on him with nearly sixty-year-old eyes, I realize he was possibly also in an intimate relationship with Jack Daniels and his partner Jimmy Beam. He was quick to anger, verbally abusive, and, on at least one occasion, physically abusive. He shouldn't have been teaching children, adults, guard dogs, or anything else.
I was always excited when it was time to write stories because this was an area where I felt confident throughout school. Professor Dullard was about to rob me of my one area of confidence.
Here are the rules for writing a story in Professor Dullard's style.
1) Write an outline.
2) Follow your outline closely. Stay consistent with your outline. Don't deviate from your outline. You wrote the outline; the story must follow the outline.
Get the picture?
However...
3) If your story is exactly like your outline, you will fail the assignment because Professor Dullard will know that you wrote the story first.
I always thought that even if I sucked at everything else, I was still a good writer. However, Professor Dullard managed to not only strip away my confidence in my literary abilities but also to make me start hating an activity that previously brought me comfort. I was not a popular kid. I was severely bullied. Writing took me away from that.
Now, it felt like I couldn't even do writing right. Maybe it felt like even writing hated me. I was so stupid. I'd been doing writing wrong all along.
Until now, I have always thought that my defiant attitude started in seventh grade. The bullying was even worse than it had been in elementary school. I started smoking (both kinds: tobacco and weed.) I started drinking. I started taking pills when I could get my hands on them. I started listening to "devil music" (I grew up during the height of the Satanic Panic).
I went from being a sweet, docile girl who just wanted people to like her to an angry, sullen girl who lashed out and just wanted fuckers to leave her alone. I went from daydreaming about being beamed up by Scotty and becoming a member of the Enterprise crew to daydreaming about having a favorite musician pull up in front of the school. I'd jump in his car, and off we'd go.
I know what many of you are thinking, but these weren't usually Prince Charming daydreams. I wasn't the groupie type. The knight in faded denim usually presented as a platonic friend rather than a love interest. Someone like Ronnie Van Zant saying, "C'mon, Kid, ditch these losers and come hang out with the band. We'd love to hear what you think about the new songs."
Pardon my trip down memory lane. What I'm getting around to is this: my defiance didn't start in junior high. It started in the sixth grade. That moment when I saw nobody was looking, I swiped Professor Dullard's key from his file cabinet and tossed it behind his desk, then I pushed the button to lock the file cabinet. He was so pissed off, and nobody suspected me because I was always a goody-two-shoes who hardly said boo.
I'd never been a vengeful person before, and I was ashamed of my actions even then. On the other hand, I thought he deserved it for making my and several of his other least favorites' lives miserable.
From that day forward, I avoided writing outlines for stories. I cut class a lot in my sophomore year of high school, so I tried to make up for it in my junior year. I was doing independent study with a teacher I remember kindly, unlike Professor Dullard.
When Dr. Dave told me he wanted me to create an outline for a story, I said, "Oh, no!" and nearly burst into tears. He was surprised by my reaction and asked me why I was so upset. I told him all about my hellish sixth-grade year with Professor Dullard.
Dr. Dave told me Professor Dullard's approach was erroneous. I had the feeling he wanted to say the man was an idiot but was trying not to bash a fellow educator. He told me he simply wanted to see my ideas for the story laid out cohesively. The story would be graded on its own merit. If it completely deviated from the outline, I wouldn't be punished.
Dr. Dave reinforced the idea that outlining was a tool. Still, once school was behind me, I never outlined a story again. I was a complete pantser until a few years ago when I began utilizing a separate document for notes while writing, and I morphed into a plantser.
I now use AutoCrit's story planner to help me organize my thoughts. A proper planner would be horrified by my haphazard, scattershot notes, but they work for me. The word outline no longer makes me feel like I'm going to barf or need a toke or a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves. I've finally removed Professor Dullard's poison from my psyche. I call that a win!
~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~
