All throughout school, I believed myself to be a bad writer. No teacher ever explicitly said those words to me, but that was definitely the substance of their feedback. I think that's a big part of why I initially rejected the idea of becoming a professor. (The idea first occurred to me when I was 19. I distinctly remember the moment I thought of and rejected it. I was walking across the main road on campus. I had just gotten out of class in Bannan Hall, and I was walking toward the Arts & Sciences Building.) I knew of the "publish or perish" mentality, and I figured I would be one of the ones to perish.
I finished college, went on a mission, and then returned home to begin law school. I was really clueless about what the whole process entailed. (The only lawyer in my family is a great uncle I've never met.) I had this vision of lawyers going to court and delivering eloquent arguments. I figured it was like getting paid to be in the debate club, and I loved the debate club when I was in high school. Imagine my surprise when I found out that lawyers spend most of their days writing, and most lawyers never see the inside of a courtroom unless they have jury duty.
One of the first classes I had to take was legal writing and research. I figured that this would be an opportunity to make up for my written deficiencies. Well, it probably would have been if I had a professor who cared about teaching. Then I had to take appellate advocacy class. That class was an even bigger disappointment. The professor tore my writing apart but never gave me any hint on how to make it better.
Around the time law school blew up in my face, I joined a fiction writing community because I needed a creative outlet. It was amazing. For the first time in my life, people were praising my writing. It felt great, but my little self-critical voice told me it didn't really count because writing short stories isn't the same as writing legal briefs.
Now I've gotten over that. I started law school again two years ago, and I've decided I want to be a professor after all. As a result, writing is going to be one of my most important job skills. It wasn't until recently that I realized that I can actually write. There are bumper stickers around that say "If you can read this, thank a teacher." Well, since I can write this, I have a few teachers to thank.
Usually when I talk about my professors, I give them funny little pseudonyms because I want to share anecdotes without revealing their identities. However, teaching can be a thankless job, and there are three professors who deserve to be publicly praised for their work. The three professors who helped me develop "the write stuff" are: Stephen Smith, Michelle Oberman, and Rachel Smith.
Stephen Smith was one of my professors my first year back in law school. One day, he gave me some feedback on a piece of writing I had turned into him. I went to his office hours to discuss the feedback and get some clarification. I started the conversation saying something along the lines of, "I know I'm not a very good writer..." He interrupted me at this point and told me that I was a great writer. This came as a total shock to me. All of my prior teachers had criticized my writing, and finally I had a professor who said my writing was great. He gave me some feedback on how to improve, and I tried to incorporate that feedback. I was never quite able to grasp exactly what he was trying to say, much to our mutual frustration, but I definitely credit him with giving me the confidence to keep trying.
Michelle Oberman taught a seminar I took last fall. I've asked several professors for advice on how to become a professor, and she was the first person who didn't try to talk me out of it or tell me that I didn't have the credentials. She was the first person to take me seriously as a budding scholar. We have rather different political persuasions, but we were able to discuss controversial topics with mutual respect. I had to write a paper for her class, and her feedback was extremely valuable. The paper turned out great, and I plan on publishing it.
Rachel Smith taught a class I took this semester. I was less than thrilled about having to take this class, since it was yet another legal writing class and goodness knows I've been there, done that by this point in time. (Not counting seminars, this was my 5th legal writing class.) I sat in the back row in the corner and didn't say much. (This is atypical for me. I usually sit front and center and can't keep my mouth shut.) Well, between class and several office hours discussions, the lightbulb finally turned on. I figured out the problem nearly every teacher for the past 20 years has had with my writing. Apparently my brain processes information quite differently from most people, and I was presenting my ideas in a way that makes sense to me. I just needed to find out what makes sense to everyone else and write it that way. It still feels unnatural to me, but at least I know the problem and the solution.
I hope that someday when I'm a professor, I'll be able to help students who don't believe in themselves to discover their gifts and how to use them.
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