The Story of Us: Writing in High School

Holly:

I was a poet, and I didn't even know it...teehee

Okay, all terrible humor aside, my writing began before I really understood the concept of being a writer. It was just something I did. Something I enjoyed. It wasn't until adulthood I realized that it was also something that I was--something I am today.

From an early age, words were feelings and images. And I loved producing a world in my mind with words. This is one of my poems from middle school (that I totally pulled out of my Lisa Frank folder this afternoon. Yeah, you heard me. Lisa Frank.):

Whenever I produced something I found merit in, I'd go running to my parents to read it to them. Writing was a source of pride for me. There was beauty in creation, and it gave me a sense of absolute fulfillment.

In high school my focus shifted away from poetry and into novels. Well, a novel. Okay, three chapters of a novel. I remember not having an agenda the way I do today. There were no agents in my mind. No editors or publishing houses. It was just me and the story that played out in my head like a movie every time I closed my eyes. Here's a snippet from that first chapter:

It was the true voice of a small-town teen, trapped in days that blended together. It was me, and I loved putting pieces of myself down on paper in a permanent sort of way. 

Looking back at my earlier works, it's clear that I could take a hint or two from my former self. To open myself up to all possibilities without the restrictions I tend to put on my work these days. And to always remember the love of the process, not just the hope of a successful end result. 

Chris: In high school and before, I never had any intentions of becoming a writer. I enjoyed writing. I liked telling stories, but it wasn’t until my frustration with my film program drove me into the loving arms of English--and creative writing.

As a teen, I tended to go a bit overboard with the creative assignments though. They were the only ones that I would write well over the minimum. And for the most part, my teachers encouraged me, even the ones I didn’t get along with.

They did their best to inspire: I still remember my sophomore teacher, Mrs. B___, who put a Pyrex casserole dish full of water on an overhead projector, then proceeded to drop food coloring into it. She swirled the colors and was even more transfixed than any of her students. (She’d recently had knee surgery, and my fellow classmates and I figured she was still on some sweet pain meds.) But it did what it needed to. I wrote.

For that class, in particular, I even made some extra cash by writing poems and other assorted works for my fellow classmates. The writing never amounted to anything, and I’m sure that if I saw them now, I’d cringe--if not shrivel entirely. But I had fun; the cash was just a bonus.

One of my favorite assignments was a portfolio of creative works based on a notable figure--alive or dead. Being at a Christian school, I always liked to push the boundaries. I chose Vlad Tepes, a.k.a. the real Dracula. And much as I didn’t particularly care for my teacher, she didn’t mind that I wrote a monologue about Vlad’s guilt over sending a beloved to be tortured because of her infidelity. She didn’t mind reading a one-act play of Vlad sentencing a prisoner to impalement. She didn’t even mind the short story of Vlad walking through the field of bodies. Well, maybe she minded, but she still gave me an “A,” and one that didn’t even involve any extra notes of “We need to talk about this.” At the time, that was all the encouragement I needed to keep writing on occasion.

I didn’t know I wanted to be a writer, but hindsight is 20/20, and looking back over my life, every step of the way shaped me into who I am today, a writer.

The Story of Us: Cross-dressing Teens

Chris: 

One of my favorite memories from high school is dress shopping. Yes, me, a guy, dress shopping.

Every year, our school held a Senior Class Play that acted as a fundraiser for the class trip. Some would act/manage/light/etc. the play and others served as waiters and waitresses for the pre-show dinner. My senior year, our play was a comedy about a garden club organizing and producing a play. The characters needed to raise funds for their various projects, so they decided to host a night of theatre and pageantry. Problem is, they didn’t know the first thing about play production or beauty pageants. So, of course, the whole thing is a debacle--albeit an amusing one.

The photo is from the beauty pageant portion. Yes, there were plenty of females in my class and even in the play, but we all thought it would be funnier if I wore a dress, claiming the original, scheduled wearer was nowhere to be found. It was a riot, gaining some of the biggest laughs--along with catcalls and whistles--of our two performances.

To find this pink polyester beaut, we’d hit up a local thrift store. When we walked through the door, the cast, the director and his wife, and I saw this dress hanging behind the counter. We knew it was the one, as long as it fit. The clerk handed it over without question, but when she saw that I was the one going into the changing room, she howled with laughter. Even more, when I came out wearing it, another customer jabbered away, gushing about how much she loved the dress, how good it looked on me, and that if we weren’t going to buy it, she would.

Of course, it was all in the name of humor. But had I not been comfortable enough to cross-dress in front of the whole school and faculty and parents, I would’ve missed out on that woman’s reaction. What helped me along were the words of my good friend, Cale P., who’d said, “There’s no shame in humor.” And while this is very true--you have to be able to laugh at yourself before you can make the world laugh with you--it extends beyond humor. You shouldn’t be ashamed of being you. We each deserve to be comfortable in our skins, and the first step is simply accepting yourself for yourself--regardless of others’ reactions. And who knows, in the process of being yourself, you just might create some favorite memories along the way...

Holly: Your own, personal bully. Most people have one in high school, and I was no exception. 

This girl was relentless, and she took every chance she got (especially when others were around) to make fun of just about everything I did. So when this jock-of-a-chick joined drama, I knew it could only be for one reason: to ruin my life. And when the drama teacher allowed my bully to help her choose rolls for plays because she'd gotten a sports injury and couldn't perform, I knew things were only going to get worse. 

First, she cast me as the goose in a retelling of "Jack and the Beanstalk." And of course, as this goose, I had to lay a real egg on stage by dropping it behind me, letting it break, and yelling "Oh, my little Herbie!" Luckily, I've always been fairly secure with myself (barring a few exceptions), and I decided as a goose to make my rolls, however embarrassing, the best they could be. And people loved it. We traveled to area elementary schools for "Jack and the Beanstalk," and I made all of the little kids scream with glee when I laid that egg. They even asked for my autograph. Take that, bully! 

Well, the next play was "Hansel and Gretel," and it was clear that my bully wasn't done throwing the punches. I'd had short hair ever since my mom gave me a bowl cut in the third grade. I wanted longer hair, but I could never seem to hold out during the "awkward length" stage, so it stayed short for a long time. My bully knew this was a weak spot for me, because we'd both been on a soccer team together from age eight, all the way into high school. She knew the other teams would call me a boy to try to psyche me out, and I guess she wanted to get me good. So, even though there were guys in drama, I got cast as Hansel...yeah, you heard it right. Not Gretel. Hansel. But I did the same with Hansel as I did with the goose. I held my head up high and gave it my all. This play was performed in front of the school, and the entire student body gave me a standing ovation when it was my time to bow at the end. It goes to show that being comfortable with yourself, even in the face of a bully, is worth it every time.