My Story About Storytelling
My story about storytelling is about vocabulary words, one of my elementary school teachers and a smile.
“Billy blew briskly…”
I wrote those words in a story called The Flat Head Kid. My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Bradley, had given the class new vocabulary words. We had to use three of them in a creative story. When I finished writing, I stood in the line that had formed in front of the teacher’s desk.
Getting to the front of the line, bursting with pride, I gave my paper to Mrs. Bradly. She read and I watched her every expression. Her eyebrows lifted, her eyes widened, and then something caused the most delightful expression to pass over her face. The suspense threatened to topple me over as I waited for her critique.
My Teacher on My Story
She said, “I like the way you used those three B’s all in a row. Unfortunately, you used one of your vocabulary words incorrectly. Do you know which one?”
I don’t know if my expression gave away my thoughts, but I suppose it had. Would I had used the word incorrectly on purpose? “No,” I finally answered.
“Well it’s briskly. You can’t blow briskly. You can speak briskly or have a brisk walk. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Alright, there’s still time, try to fix it.”
I went back to my desk and edited my story.
My Story: The Flat Head Kid
The brisk wind caused Billy to lose his head. Those violent winds blew, bouncing Billy’s head down the street. He ran after it. He chased it past the post office, he chased it past the hospital, he chased it past his house. He couldn’t catch it. Then a car ran over it.
Now, his head was as flat as a pancake. An inconceivable problem faced him. He picked his head up and tried to blow it up again. He tried and tried but he couldn’t inflate his head, so he put it back on the way it was. Ever since that day, he was known as the flat head kid.
That’s my story. It’s my very first bona fide story. My mother claims she still has it in a box somewhere, but I’ve never seen it, although she did send me a picture of it about a decade ago. The paper has the story with a drawing of the flat head kid standing by a mailbox. Too funny.
In fourth grade, somewhere between Mrs. Bradley’s smile and rewriting the story I fell in love with storytelling. The absolute real treasure, as I came to know years later, I learned the importance of editing to make my writing better. From Mrs. Bradley, I saw how words, my words, could educe a reaction from a reader. It gratified me to have my teacher smile at my work.
I can’t give all the credit to my teacher though. Long before this experience my mother gave me a love for words and both my parents nurtured my love for reading and writing. I guess it was having someone outside of my home give positive feedback that made writing even more special to me.
For more thoughts on why we write see Why Write: What Motivates Writers
