When I had walked through the doors of my high school for the first day, for the third year in a row, I had expected the same routine. Figure out what room’s my classes were in, see if any of my friends were there, collect the syllabus, and wait for the bell to ring. As I had transitioned into my junior year, I found it wise to start taking advanced placement courses to get a head start on college. Therefore, the classic routine that I had become adjusted to with just basic honors courses, was subject to quite a bit of change. The first AP class I had on my schedule was AP English Language and Composition, and I tried to prepare myself as much as possible. Unbeknownst to me though was, that in that class, I would gain more from that teacher than just how to write a college worthy essay: I would learn how to become a writer for myself.

            Her name was Mrs. Kristie Dowling, and to this day her reach of influence still develops my writing. I walked into the classroom and the desks were in rows, going from the front of the class all the way to the back near the door. Ms. Dowling sat at a desk in the front, papers scattered across with a laptop smack in the middle. She started to read off names and what desks they belonged to, and I waited patiently for my name to be called. I hoped to be seated towards the front, as I favored being closer to the board. But to my dismay, she got past the front rows and I was ready to accept a seat in the center of the classroom. It was when she reached the back row that I knew where my seat was going to be: in the farthest corner closest to the door and furthest away from the board and my friends. Ms. Dowling and I were not off to a good start. I struggled to listen to her teach the class, but all of my struggling would be worth it. As classes started to cruise by with Ms. Dowling at the helm, we were managing to write at least two essays a week. After a month or two had passed, Mrs. Dowling pulled me aside to speak to me about the quality of my essays. Just in the early stages of writing at the time, I got the delusion stuck in my head that she was going to tell me to just give up and point out every horrendous detail of my work. But contrary to my hysteria, she sat me down and told me that my writings were phenomenal, and that if I really aspired to do so, that I should write not only for required work but for my own pleasure. At the time, I had previously written minor stories or streams of consciousness, but paid no mind to them and had cast them aside. When she had told me that my writing skill was talented, I wasn’t quite sure how to react. Mrs. Dowling broke down my text and pulled out what I assumed to be minutia, and showed me how to use it better to my advantage. I took what she had told me and started to incorporate her teachings into my daily writing. I began to write more creative pieces, toying with different aspects like themes, poetry, juxtaposition. It was like the literary flood gates had crumbled, and I was filled with a basin of previously untapped potential.

            At the start of my senior year, I had accepted writing as my new passion and would still bring different works to my mentor: Ms. Dowling. I had passed her AP course with flying colors, so I decided to take the following AP class, Literature. In one of our meetings, Mrs. Dowling had asked how I was handling that adjustment between the two courses, as the material was starkly different. The truth was that I was struggling with the change in the writing that was required of me, so she proceeded to ask me if I had known anyone else in the class that I could possibly work with to better my work and learn more. I listed off a few names that I had gathered in the sparse number of classes that I had, and she stopped me when I mentioned the student that sat in front of me. His name was Noah, and that was the extent I knew of him other than that I had a chemistry class with him sophomore year. He was tall, wore glasses, and was often silent. She started to rave, saying that he was a writer of my caliber and that I need to share some of my personal works with him. The next AP Literature class that I attended, I made an effort to talk to Noah. He presented himself enthusiastically when talking about his writing, and detailed that he writes stories and adapts them into screenplays because he hopes one day to write for films as a profession. We exchanged work and reconvened the next day. We only had good things to say about each other’s writings, and decided that we should collaborate and write something creatively together. From then, a lasting friendship was cemented and from him I gathered a greater appreciation for the literary side of film. I watched movies quite frequently, and never saw the writing behind them until I was opened to it through Noah. We both ended up attending FSU, and since then we have written multiple screenplays, and share a dream of making films of our own one day. Even if it is just a dream, seemingly far out of reach, the skills I gathered as a writer will help me in my evolution. Because of that I can only sit back, watch movies, and appreciate the privilege of the community I have found in friends, writing and film.