Will's Declassified English Class Survival Guide: My Literacy Narrative

Will’s Declassified English Class
Survival Guide:


My Literacy Narrative


By: William Golden

“So Mom, when are we working on this uhhhh college essay?” I say while insinuating a
large portion of my work will fall on her shoulders.

“Um Mister, in six months you’re on your own. Time for you to step into those big boys
shoes" she exclaims from two rooms over.

After a little bickering back and fourth, my hopes of
coasting through this paper were completely gone. With my head
down and computer in hand, I somberly trounced down the stairs to
my basement with a discouraging attitude. It was a beautiful
Saturday afternoon, college football was on TV and the only thing
holding me back from hanging with my friends was this, in my
mind, petty essay. I opened the basement door and the cold air
tickled my cheeks as I plopped down on the nearest bean bag. Little did I know, the next eight
hours of my life would forever alter the way I approach writing assignments. I went down with a
computer and somber attitude and came back up with a well polished essay and a new view on
writing. Now, by no means do I consider myself a novelist or expert writer, but what I do know is
the college essay I wrote, the very essay I applied to this school with, has forever altered my
stance on writing through intense reflection and work.
The roots of coasting and procrastinating school, especially long essays, runs deep into
my scholastic history. As early as 2nd grade, I can vividly recall not completing homework
assignments or studying, yet doing well tests and in-class assessments. At the time, my simplistic
mind was too worried about whether I would be able to play legos with my next door neighbor
Austin that night instead of if I’ll have the assigned math worksheet done for tomorrow. I was a

very active kid, playing multiple sports and constantly getting into trouble, so it is safe to say I
struggled mightily to sit still in a seat all day and learn. Regardless, whether it was math, writing,
science, or whatever subject, I received A’s. Excelling in grade school and middle school with
minimal effort could be possibly one of the worst things that have ever happened
to me. I developed a lackluster work ethic because I thought I knew
everything in the world… and I mean, my grades proved that, right? Well,
obviously not because high school came at me fast; And when I say fast, I mean NASCAR final
lap-type of fast.

My journey in and out of the literary world has been very staggered and unsteady.
Freshman year in high school, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with the English class offered,
and for a good reason. Grammar. Ah, the essential for writing, yes, but in my mind all I saw was
the manipulation of sentences and statements that emitted little or no interest to me. Breaking
down a sentence and identifying words and phrases as prepositions and what not did not come
easy and was very thick. Grammar, being hard and tedious, caused me to instantly look down
upon my first period English class with Mr. Doyle, despite him being a phenomenal teacher.
Naturally, the time to write papers came about and, putting it in a nice way, I struggled. No
longer could I write a thorough paper in one sitting nor could I even attempt to use my frugal
middle school vocabulary for a high school paper. Ability was never a question for me, only
making the decision to put the work in to see favorable results. And what did I do? You guessed
it, I put in the very minimal work to barely receive a B in the class and retained little
grammatical knowledge. Along with handicapping myself for the rest of my high school career, I
already developed a bad taste for the subject which would haunt me for the next three years at

Benet Academy, my high school. Little did I know, though, my distaste and hostility towards
writing would eventually turn into a penchant towards essays all through the crafty hands of my
Sophomore teacher, Ms. Bolland.

Ms. Bolland had a quaint, corner classroom on the far east wing of Benet on the second
floor. Having my locker located on the first floor of the west wing, it was quite an expedition to
come from math class, change out my books in the locker, and head up to English all in a matter
of five minutes. Walking into the classroom however, pictures of literary legends such as
Shakespeare, Hemingway, Dickens and King cove the walls. It was a well lit room with twenty
or so seats that are all aligned to face a small podium.

“In this class,” Ms. Bolland begins “we will be writing a total of ten papers per semester
and you will read at least three of your work out loud” she exclaims.

“Oh boy,” I thought “this is going to be brutal” as the
excitement drained out of my body.

But, little did I know, the time spent in her class would
transform me into an active, engaged writer. See, the thing about
this class was, I didn’t write for a good grade; I wrote to impress. Like most writing classes, I
was instantly thrown into a review group so we could peer-edit each others papers. My group
consisted of my buddy Erik, a nice girl named Laura, and my Sophomore year crush, Lauren
Barnes. Yes, I started to become an engaged writer all because every Wednesday, when we
review each other’s papers, I wanted to impress my crush, Lauren. Let me tell you, I couldn’t
write papers fast enough. Every week I was churning out outlines, writing rough drafts, and I
even whipped out a thesaurus once in awhile. All of which I had never done before on a

consistent basis unless it was required. And, though my main goal was to impress this girl, I
actually learned to enjoy writing in the process. I had never wrote a paper and actually gone back
and tweaked some things and came out with a full-fledged essay. The pride and satisfaction that
came along with looking at a completed, comprehensive essay that I wrote, compared to nothing
I had experienced before in school. Instantly, I was hooked. I made up for my lost time Freshman
year and reacquired the important skills of writing properly and even acquired a penchant for the
newfound activity.

Well, from a terrible literary experience freshman year to an eye-opening sophomore
year, junior year would turn out to be very uneventful. Regretfully, junior year I did
not take a writing course. Well, to be clear, I took an English course but the course
solely entailed the study of the history of British literature. Junior year was hectic
and stressful. I was attempting one last academic push to raise my GPA and situate
myself comfortably for the college application process. Even though I enjoyed writing after
Sophomore year, me being me, I passed up on what I now enjoyed, writing, for the British
literature class solely because I was more worried about my GPA than what interests me. I heard
British literature was an easy class and in my inept brain didn’t think twice about writing. Again,
I’m not looking back at these decisions with pleasure, these were all terrible academic decisions I
made. Once again, I fell victim to my old ways of going through school with minimal effort and
boy, was it a waste of time. Instead of writing, I was reading and simply just spewing back
useless facts about the cruel King Henry V of England or simply recalling stories of the
Canterbury tails. Nowhere in the class did I have an assessment that required me to write more
than a page of literature. So, naturally, senior year rolls around and I’m right back where I

started. I went from wanting nothing to do with writing, to a writing enthusiast, to once again,
unfortunately, lazy and unmotivated after a year away from essays.

So, sure enough senior year rolls around and, as expected, the college application process
began. All my application material was in order for the schools I intended to apply for and I felt
comfortable with all my credentials but one, my essay. I had completed all the necessary forms
and submissions but purposely neglected the essay as long as I could. I only spent two days
getting all my college applications in order but after that it took me 10 days to even think about
looking at the essay whose deadline was approaching fast. At the time, I hadn’t written a paper
longer than 3 pages the entire school year and now, here I was, sitting down to write one simple
essay that could determine my future, for better or for worse. I was petrified. So, there I was on
that beautiful Saturday morning, all cozied up in my big furry bean bag. I had my computer on
my lap, lights turned on, headphones in and I was staring at a blank Microsoft Word document

on one side of my screen with the essay prompt on the other. I hit "play" to
cue the music and the introductory drums of “Sympathy for the Devil” by

the Rolling Stones slowly started filling my ears with top-notch classic rock.
It was go time. I swallowed my pride and began the hardest task every writer
faces; I put pen to paper. Outline after outline, nothing seemed to be jumping off the
page, saying “WRITE ME”. After hours filled with frustration and irritation, I finally crafted a
nifty narrative and off I went. The fun had just begun.
For the next six hours, I hunkered down, wrote, rewrote, wrote again, and once again
rewrote my essay. Unlike any essays in my life, this single assignment could make or break my
future so I required it to be my best work. Trouncing up the stairs decades later, I had a grin the

size of the Grand Canyon and a pep in my step like never before. I was ecstatic, I knew this was
the essay. With a smug grin, I handed the precious essay to my mom for review and headed off to
the kitchen to grab a bite to eat; I hadn’t eaten in eight hours.

I get called into the living room, “So Caroline, do you like it or do you like it?” I say with
high expectations of her opinion.

Caroline, which is my mother’s full name that I use in a playful manner, replies, “Not too
shabby, need to touch it up a bit and my little boy is going to college!!”

She handed my paper back covered in red ink. Not one paragraph remained
untouched by her dreaded red ink as my paper was riddled with grammatical
inaccuracies. Freshman year grammar class flashed across my eyes, and the
ultimate feeling of regret descended upon me. I headed back downstairs
prepared for a long night and even longer week. This was no easy task. As I
submerge into the basement, though, feelings of distaste and agony were nowhere to be found.
Instead, I found myself hopeful and excited to take on the challenge and churn out the best damn
essay I have ever written.

For me, being the proactive writer I am today does not solely entail producing A+ work
all the time. But, what it does mean, is never doing work. When I considered writing work, it
was a methodical process. Now, my perspective was changed. Writing, for me, transformed from
work to enjoyment. While going down the stairs, four years of the peaks and valleys of my
writing career flashed before my eyes. Considering this, I knew right then and there, I was a
writer. I knew I wouldn’t change anything I did because all of the good and bad decisions ended

up shaping me into the conscious and enthusiastic writer I am. And this time, my affinity for
writing is here to stay.

Thank You!

“One of the best works Mr. Golden has

produced. Both engaging and heart-

warming!”

- Nick Feldman, DePaul University

“Inspiring, beautiful, well-written… What else

can I say? A MUST READ!

- Alex Kepple, DePaul University

In this book, Will’s Declassified English Class Survival Guide, I recount my
literary experiences starting with grade school and narrate a story to senior year,
highlighting the literary journey that transformed me into the proactive writer I

am today. Put on those reading glasses and get cozy because we are about to
take a step back in time and discover the roots of me as a writer.