How I Became a Writer Essay

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“Wow!” Mrs. Wooten smiled at the sixth grade class. “I am pleasantly surprised at the quality of these papers. Everyone in this room is very talented.” The middle aged English teacher stood in front of the class room shuffling though the papers in her hands. She was displaying a large smile as she looked up into the faces of her young students. I remember this day as if it were just yesterday. I remember her speaking those words so clearly like I was still sitting in the back of that class. This is that day that I realized how much I really enjoyed writing. A screeching bell rang though the school intercom to inform the children that class was over. Bodies moved around and chairs dragged across the boringly white tile floors as the students began to pack up to leave. I stood shoving my Lisa Frank folders and notebooks into my unicorn sticker covered back pack. “Hannah!” Mrs. Wooten sat back at her desk with a pleasantly sweet smile. “May I speak with you before you leave?” I looked over to the teacher, my heart beat violently quickened. Even though she was smiling at me a few thoughts danced around my brain. What did I do? Was I in trouble? I tried to think back to the day and even the days prior. The only think bad that I have done that I could think of was I cut in front of someone in the lunch line. But why would I be called to the teacher after class for that. Despite my racing mind I forced a smile upon my face and sauntered over to her desk. “Hello, Hannah.” She smiled up at to me before turning her attention back down to the papers on her desk. After a few seconds of her flipping the white papers, mine appeared in her hands with my name written neatly in the right hand corner in sparkly purple ink. “What is it?” I asked her nervously fidgeting with the bottom hem of my navy blue school uniform. “I wanted to talk to you about this paper,

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