papipaco
Sex God
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2011
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Why I Write
There was this teacher I had in high school who read my work. She was amazed. She loved it. It made me feel good and it made me want to keep going and I did for awhile. Later on some kid made up some lies about this teacher and in a second I realized how fast all you worked for could be taken away, how your dreams could be crushed. It scared me. It still does. She is a great teacher, a wonderful mentor. She made me cry once. She made me laugh a billion times. If she reads this, I want to say thank you. Even for that time you made me cry.
High school was alright. I kept busy for the most part. Home was a different story, but I'm not ready for that part. I probably never will be, not completely, but I'll try. Later.
I wasn't Mr. Congeniality in high school. I was just a floater. I loved to make people laugh. I was the who sat in the back of the classroom and flirted even if I had zero romantic interest in the person. I don't know why, it was just fun. And I was a bastard.
Three classes in high school stick out to me. One was my childhood development class. I forged friendships in that class that I will never forget. None of them lasted. But, hell, it was a riot. Second, was anatomy. Not only was half of it taught by the aforementioned teacher, it was a class that taught me a lot about myself. . .no pun intended. It showed me that when I applied myself to something it was actually pretty damn good. Also, I wrote a story in that class that, for some reason, I am still to this day very proud of. It was, naturally, tied into anatomy, but it was a damn good tale. No one ever read it. The janitors threw away the pile by accident before they could be read. I guess it's like the one that got away. The third class that sticks out to me, for some unknown reason, is my Algebra 2 class from my senior year. Two of my friends from anatomy had it with me. (Plus one!) It was a pretty relaxing class with no homework (Plus two!) I also almost failed it and would not have been able to graduate had I. Never before did I pray so much. Also, there was logarithms, you just can't forget those.
So, I got through high school. I had subjects I was good in and some I was just awful in. According to my high school transcript you should never let me babysit your children or do your taxes: I would probably agree with both. However, I'm more than qualified to tell you about checks, balances and torts. Tort law. . .those were some good times. That was my business law class. I passed with flying colours but I was stoned for most of it. . .you probably don't want me to be your lawyer either. High school transcripts lie.
High school turned me into a poet, a romantic. I always wanted to believe. I picked up
the pen again sometime around the middle of my sophomore year but I couldn't finish much more than a short story, a love letter or an essay. They all sucked. Especially the love letters. The damage had been done.
Then I had an english teacher who gave me a B on an essay. I was furious! I had never had anything less than an A on a written project. Ever. Just who in the hell did this guy think he was? I asked him just that. He gave me a B+, one point away from an A-. The prick. So then I wrote again--and oh boy did I write.
A kid came along (I hate this kid now, as he broke my heart but I got to give him some credit here) and because of him I quit doing drugs. I sobered up, quit having sex with women and came out of the closet. Along the way I became one helluva of a writer. I enjoyed every minute of it.
And that is the story of why I pick up this pen now and write. It's because I was bored and because some prick told me I couldn't.
There was this teacher I had in high school who read my work. She was amazed. She loved it. It made me feel good and it made me want to keep going and I did for awhile. Later on some kid made up some lies about this teacher and in a second I realized how fast all you worked for could be taken away, how your dreams could be crushed. It scared me. It still does. She is a great teacher, a wonderful mentor. She made me cry once. She made me laugh a billion times. If she reads this, I want to say thank you. Even for that time you made me cry.
High school was alright. I kept busy for the most part. Home was a different story, but I'm not ready for that part. I probably never will be, not completely, but I'll try. Later.
I wasn't Mr. Congeniality in high school. I was just a floater. I loved to make people laugh. I was the who sat in the back of the classroom and flirted even if I had zero romantic interest in the person. I don't know why, it was just fun. And I was a bastard.
Three classes in high school stick out to me. One was my childhood development class. I forged friendships in that class that I will never forget. None of them lasted. But, hell, it was a riot. Second, was anatomy. Not only was half of it taught by the aforementioned teacher, it was a class that taught me a lot about myself. . .no pun intended. It showed me that when I applied myself to something it was actually pretty damn good. Also, I wrote a story in that class that, for some reason, I am still to this day very proud of. It was, naturally, tied into anatomy, but it was a damn good tale. No one ever read it. The janitors threw away the pile by accident before they could be read. I guess it's like the one that got away. The third class that sticks out to me, for some unknown reason, is my Algebra 2 class from my senior year. Two of my friends from anatomy had it with me. (Plus one!) It was a pretty relaxing class with no homework (Plus two!) I also almost failed it and would not have been able to graduate had I. Never before did I pray so much. Also, there was logarithms, you just can't forget those.
So, I got through high school. I had subjects I was good in and some I was just awful in. According to my high school transcript you should never let me babysit your children or do your taxes: I would probably agree with both. However, I'm more than qualified to tell you about checks, balances and torts. Tort law. . .those were some good times. That was my business law class. I passed with flying colours but I was stoned for most of it. . .you probably don't want me to be your lawyer either. High school transcripts lie.
High school turned me into a poet, a romantic. I always wanted to believe. I picked up
the pen again sometime around the middle of my sophomore year but I couldn't finish much more than a short story, a love letter or an essay. They all sucked. Especially the love letters. The damage had been done.
Then I had an english teacher who gave me a B on an essay. I was furious! I had never had anything less than an A on a written project. Ever. Just who in the hell did this guy think he was? I asked him just that. He gave me a B+, one point away from an A-. The prick. So then I wrote again--and oh boy did I write.
A kid came along (I hate this kid now, as he broke my heart but I got to give him some credit here) and because of him I quit doing drugs. I sobered up, quit having sex with women and came out of the closet. Along the way I became one helluva of a writer. I enjoyed every minute of it.
And that is the story of why I pick up this pen now and write. It's because I was bored and because some prick told me I couldn't.