Believe it or not, from the minute my little fingers could awkwardly grasp a pencil up until about eighth grade, I was the worst writer who ever lived. I was that kid whose work you’d read and question if they could speak English or not. It was that bad. Most sentences sounded something along the lines of ‘I like…” or “…is good.” I just liked or didn’t like everything, and everything was good, or bad. I never spoke that way, in fact I’ve always been very articulate. I told nearly ever English teacher I ever had that I’d much rather create an oral presentation instead of writing an essay. Give me a topic, and I could talk for hours on it. It’d sound as though I spent a good week or two writing my little speech. My oral presentation skills are still impeccable, but my writing has definitely improved to higher levels.
It started when my eighth grade English teacher went off on maternity leave and was replaced by an extremely quirky woman with bright red lipstick and chunky jewelry. She looked like the entirety of the drama department and all the kids in it had been stuffed into a blender to create the petite brunette woman who stood at the front of the classroom. Did she have control over the class? Not even in the slightest.
She was different and strange and hardly graded anything, but she taught me how to write. She somehow shed me of my illiterate skin and released a colorful burst of imagination and words. It was like having a blindfold removed, and finding oneself in the land of Oz. I couldn’t stop writing, I couldn’t get enough. The syllables flowed from my fingertips like paint onto a colorless wall, my own version of art and expression being scribbled across the pages like graffiti.
How the odd woman in polka dots with a wide smile and flowers in her hair managed to get this from me when no one else could is insane, but she did. She’s still my favorite teacher to this day, but unfortunately she was fired. Some students who didn’t like her unorthodox teaching styles made up some story and told the principal. I haven’t seen her since.
Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy and still wearing bright red lipstick and flowers in her hair. I hope she’s teaching, and brings her fuzzy green pillows to the classroom. I hope she changes someone the way she changed me.
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141,342 Literary Works • 674,350 Reviews
Sometimes, on my way home from a stressful day at work, I find a cozy window seat in the bus and decide to nod off to sleep.
Right about then, a tune starts to play on the radio. Slow, soft, placating.
My thoughts began to swirl. At first, in gentle tandem with the tune. Then gradually they pick up momentum, racing, racing. Until they threaten to erupt with a vengeance.
At this point, I have to free myself. By arranging all these thoughts into words. And the words into sentences.
Sometimes, I’m woken up with a jolt from my sleep, itching to finish that last verse of a poem. Or that last sentence of a random musing.
Writing is the expression I chose to liberate myself from the occasional whirlpools of angst, rage and happiness inside.
Writing, for me, is freeing.
Hey SBI xD
I was just going through "Articles/ Essay" when I found your topic really interesting. And after I read it, I felt touched. Really! I mean, no one has ever changed me like that except YWS. My story is sort of the same too. I was really bad at English writing. I think I still am. I'm never, EVER, going to accept the fact that I'm awesome at writing. Who ever says so. Not that I'm negative about it. Okay! Stop.
Back to topic:
Even if this is a real life story, at first, I didn't believe it. Seriously. But then, I thought about it. It can be true and that's why teachers are always there for us. And its really sad to know that people started making stories of her. The thing is, the Principle should have known her well. Anyway, but I felt this article very exciting. Though this one, really needed paragraphs. I kept reading the same line for maybe about 1 minute and I'm like, "What am I doing?". Haha xD
I really think, its really good to remember and give respect to a teacher who completely changed you. I wish someone like that was there for me. I had to struggle to change myself. Well, everyone has to. I imagined your teacher with red lipstick and all. She seems to be very fascinated by old fashion, I guess by the description you've given?
Anyway, this was awesome and I hope you'll still love writing. Never hate. Its the most peaceful thing to do, no?
Love,
Cookie <3'
Hey Jackie! Me again for a Kudos Revue! It's been a while since I saw your last few pieces, so lemme give you a quality review!
Here's my Kudos for you: 
Personally, this is a very touching anecdotal essay. It's been told in a very normal, average way which induces familiarity and comfortableness to the readers. Although it radiates something personal, your hobby, it seems to affect me as a writer myself. Seeing the experiences you shared, short 'happy fail' moments pop up from my memory, which makes your piece a great thought provoker. This shows the ability of your piece to interest readers for more.
Just remember that this is some kind of anecdotal essay, so keep it alive and vivid as if you're telling a story and your opinions about it. Also, try keeping the presentation of the piece loose and simple, add some white spaces to refresh the viewers eyes.
Great piece, Jackie!
I still can't give proper meters though, the commenting system is still in a jag
Your Kudos Revuer,
Al