Here’s an article you have to read, because surely you have that one person – maybe several – too.
Here, my favorite part of the write-up lengthy, but oh-so-worth-it:
Why do we love our writing teachers so much? Why, years later, do we think of them with such gratitude? I think it’s because they come along when we need them most, when we are young and vulnerable and are tentatively approaching this craft that our culture doesn’t have much respect for, but which we are beginning to love. They have so much power. They could mock us, disregard us, use us to prop themselves up. But our teachers, if they are good, instead do something almost holy, which we never forget: they take us seriously. They accept us as new members of the guild. They tolerate the under-wonderful stories we write, the dopy things we say, our shaky-legged aesthetic theories, our posturing, because they have been there themselves.
Sharing this write-up because I love it so much, with a special shoutout to my own writing (and life) mentor, my high school English teacher who only taught me at age 14, but we’ve been fabulous friends, student-teacher and writing mentor-apprentice since. She’s my go-to person whenever I need an honest opinion about my writing, in whatever form it appears. Here’s for her, who saw my worth as a person and writer and believed in me long before I ever do. Who, when I told her that I’m at last starting to think my writing gift, however small and average, means something – “Finally!” That was her response.
We say: I think I might be a writer.
They say: Good for you. Proceed.
Here’s for you, Teacher;
I probably wouldn’t be writing until now if not for you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you – always ♡