The New Class by Jamie Jurado

As I walked off the bus, I felt like I had entered another world, a world I didn’t want to be in. The summer was definitely over as the calming visions of sun, sand, warm breezes, and freedom were replaced by fluorescent lights, squeaky sneakers, human traffic jams, and—who could forget—that horrible school bell. It was the start of the new school year, and I wasn’t expecting much. Being in the seventh grade meant I wasn’t in the new herd, but I wasn’t top dog, either. It was the middle year of middle school, the filler year, the year that would fly by with nothing eventful enough to be memorable. I didn’t expect something new; I didn’t expect change until I saw those two little words written on my class schedule: Writer’s Workshop.

Writer’s Workshop. Just the thought of it wreaked havoc in my brain. What was it? I had never heard of this class before, and I know I definitely did not sign up for it myself. Did the school think I needed more supplemental help? I think I’d written decent enough to get by in all of my classes, but was I really that bad of a writer? Maybe it was a glitch in the system, and the computer put me in a class I wasn’t really supposed to take. Panic was eating away at my being. The one major reason that I automatically shunned the idea of the class was because I despised writing. Previously, I had received papers back with only the occasional red blemish. Based on that logic, I should have thought more highly of myself as a writer, but I was a girl who needed feedback. I had no clue what I was doing to write so well and through this not knowing, I thought I was a bad writer and hated writing.

 

The school hallways echoed with restless summer buzz and chatter. Mingling and wandering the hallways full of students convening after receiving their schedules, I found that a few of my friends were also enrolled in the unknown class, and that eased my stress so much more. The late bell shrieked and, in a hop, I was headed off to English. It was there that I learned the origin of Writer’s Workshop. This year we had a new curriculum that divided English into two classes: Writer’s Workshop focused strictly on writing, and English Language Arts covered all the other aspects of English. It was then that a weight was lifted off my shoulders and order returned to my worrisome mind. Everything was clearer and, with more information, I was slowly warming up to the class. However, deep down, I was still not a fan. Maybe if it was named something different, it would have sparked more interest but, either way, there was nothing I had done and there was nothing I could do. I had to take Writer’s Workshop.

English class had wrapped up quickly and I was soon off to its more dreadful counterpart, Writer’s Workshop. As the first to arrive, time took forever to pass as the stone-cold, empty classroom filled with solemn students. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one concerned about this class. It was surprising how silent the room was compared to the noise in the hallways, especially being the first day back from school. When class finally began, we sat, listened, disregarded, or napped through the introduction and overview of the class. Throughout the term, we would learn one generic topic about writing each week and, in addition, have a weekly assignment to apply what we learned. To me, that had no appeal and brought any feelings of curiosity and interest for the class into nonexistence. However, as the weeks progressed, my feelings changed.

After weeks of grammar worksheets, we finally had our first writing assignment. We were nearing Halloween and, in celebration, the assignment was to write a personal narrative about our biggest fear. We were going to present our stories to the class at the end of the week. Friday came very quickly and I was prepared, paper in hand, expecting a straight run-through of boring presentations. However, it was anything but. As our teacher called for volunteers to read their papers, you could feel the tension in the room as a severe lack of hands were raised, so we were chosen at random. The first few stories presented received the appropriate attention and applause but, over time, the tension broke and the environment became more comfortable. In the middle of the class there were more volunteers and among them were some of the funniest people in our grade. I remember the class clown wrote his paper about spiders, as did the majority of the class, including me. In my interpretation, a paper about my biggest fear was a dark and serious topic, but his paper was bright and comical through his voice, the usage of colorful, expressive language, and an approach I would have never thought of using. Class flew by as the presentations continued; some stories were deep and personal, like mine, whereas others were more creative and hilarious. The once dull and cold room had filled with warm and colorful laughter and, as the bell rang, for the first time I felt like I actually enjoyed the class.

Writer’s Workshop changed my perspective on writing. I discovered the creative aspect of writing and enjoyed the freedom in writing as I told my story with descriptive words and personality. I used so much of what I learned from Writer’s Workshop in later classes from a technical aspect and, because of it, I even took Creative Writing in high school. I enjoy writing now and as I write, I put myself in a more open mindset to express myself in a variety of ways using the simple power of words.