Ethan Tison- UWRT 1101 T/R 2:00 -3:15

Portrait of a Writer Essay- Draft #2

My mother dropped another huge stack of ultra- wide- grade paper into my lap,
just as I began to think that I was done for the day. Oh, come on, Mom! I complained
as she tossed me a pen, as well. Come on, Ethan. Practice your writing some more.
Tell me about how your day was. She commanded, causing me to sigh heavily. I began
scribbling down clumsy letters as fast as I could, so I could be free from this torturous
session of homeschooled- writing.
I had absolutely loathed writing throughout my entire learning career, because it
simply took so long, and Id never gotten particularly good at drawing each individual
letter, making my overall handwriting look like a inky- footed mouse had tap-danced
over the page, instead of someone actually trying to communicate. I had never been
very skilled at word choice, grammar, or punctuation, either, so for a kid who was only
separated from playing outside by one last stupid little writing assignment, this stack of
writing paper was the most hated piece of schoolwork that I had ever known. After a
painfully long amount of time, I managed to fill the pages with some gibberish that
technically satisfied the assignment, and I was off like a shot, out the door, and far away
from writing.
My opposition to writing was not a permanent aversion, though. Upon reaching
seventh grade, my Mom put me in an informal writing class, in addition to our
homeschooling. I originally hated it, because essentially all we did was write; the one
thing in all the world that I could stand the least. That is, until my teacher assigned us to
write a ten- page short story about whatever we wanted. Before that point, all I had
done was mindlessly copy sentences about Jane seeing dogs or been forced to write a

certain number of words about some objective topic that I didnt care about to
demonstrate certain types of grammar and punctuation. Now, though, I was being given
a choice to write about whatever I wanted to write about?
I was temporarily dumbfounded, but my creative mind was already inventing
interesting ideas. I had always been an avid reader of every book I could get my hands
on, and had always wanted to make a fictional story of my own. So, instead of
complaining about the ridiculously long assignment, I simply began putting into words
one of the stories Id already started to make up in my head. My main character had
unwittingly stumbled into a secret laboratory and discovered a rather intriguing device. It
was shiny and large, and egg- shaped. A door on the smooth surface slid open,
revealing a bright interior, and the character stumbled forward, as though drawn by an
irresistible magnet. Squinting into the light coming from a complex display of lights, my
character managed to make out the exciting label beside him: Time Machine. The
character smiled, imagining all the fun he was going to have. Little did he know all the
dangerous situations that would befall him. The next thing I knew, it was time to leave
class, almost as though I had been the one time traveling, and not my character. I was
stunned to look down and find that I already had five pages done, written in exactly the
way I thought and spoke. Though not all of the syntax was correct, it was the most
beautiful thing I had ever made. I was amazed by how actually caring about what I was
doing caused my writing to be so drastically different.
The most startling thing to me, though, was that unlike every other time Id ever
written before, where I just wanted to run away and never write again, I now wanted to
keep writing. I didnt want to stop writing until Id finished my story, in the same way I

didnt want to stop reading until Id finished a book. Furthermore, even after I finished
the ten pages upon getting home, I didnt want to stop, because since beginning to write
the story, Id come up with even more ideas of how to continue it. I therefore continued
to expand the tale outside of class, in my own time, and continued to learn and to get
better at writing. Now, that story is over 500 pages long and has split into a trilogy, and
is still not finished being written. I also have begun entirely different stories, completely
separate from this first one, and my fascination with and skills in writing have increased
astronomically all the while. I hope to someday publish some of the novels Im writing,
because storytelling is now one of my strongest points as a writer.
Since that one day in seventh grade, I have become a writer that was
consistently much more practiced than many of my grade- school peers, and I found
myself going above and beyond expectations in high school assignments, especially if it
involved a story to tell. For example, the time my 9th grade teacher assigned us to write
a 1- page equal to The Most Dangerous Game, and ended up being unable to
condense the story any shorter than 4 pages. However, I do still sometimes struggle to
write informational essays where the content is well organized and where there is more
of a right and wrong way to write, rather than having the creative license to do all sorts
of interesting things. I can remember many times when writing science lab reports
where I suddenly realize that Id been conversationally writing what to do as a
paragraph, instead of listing rigid commands as bullet- points. Writing essays forces me
to think more in terms of an organized plan, rather than beginning to write down ideas,
and allowing my imagination to morph the story as I write, which is the way I often write
in my stories. In fact, I often surprise myself as Im writing a story, because I dont have

a plan until I actually write that point. Thus, its very similar to reading a story, and
having absolutely no idea what is going to happen to the characters until it happens,
which is partially why its so entertaining and exciting to write. Its especially entertaining
to tie back a loose end from somewhere else to explain a part of the story, which I find
hilarious and amazing whenever I see another author doing the same thing, because it
not only makes the story more interesting and interwoven in complexity, like real life, but
it also gives you a glimpse into that authors thought process, and you feel momentarily
connected to them. I greatly respect the underlying skill and concentration required to
tie loose ends into a nice little bow, and it brings me immense enjoyment to read
instances of this happening. Even so, oftentimes the most fun part of writing is not the
finished product, but the process.
Seeing the seed of an idea grow into a beautiful writing is why I love writing. Its
very interesting, seeing the way in which not only your thoughts transform the writing,
but the way your writing transforms you. I know that at least for me, because of my
experiences with writing, Im not the same person I was before, back when I hated
writing more than anything else. Now I see the world in a new light, and Im always
looking for connections. Also, from the reactions Ive gotten to the writings Ive shown to
others, Ive learned about people and how to relate with them on a more interesting
level. As Ive written in one of my poems, years ago,
The constitution is made of ink and paper,
But the words on the page tell of something much greater
With every stroke of pen on page, great power is unleashed.
You can do anything, and with every choice, potentialitys breached

Each mark on every single page holds a simple magic.

That people everywhere can see the way you choose to use it.