no Danielle Steel. Yet. I know I have a lot of work to do before I can ever hope to win a Booker Prize or one of those other awards writers get.
But a B????
I have never gotten a B on an English assignment in my life!!!!
There must be some mistake.
I was in so much shock after I got my paper back that I think I just sat there with my mouth hanging open for a very long period of time…long enough for the line of people gathered around Ms. Martinez’s desk to thin out enough for her to finally notice me, and go, “Yes, Mia? Do you have a question?”
“This is a B,” was all I managed to choke out. On account of my throat had kind of closed up. And my palms were sweaty. And my fingers were shaking.
Because I have never gotten a B on an English assignment before. Never, never, never, never…
“Mia, you’re a very good writer,” Ms. Martinez said. “But you lack discipline.”
“I do?” I licked my lips. They had gotten all parched, just while I was sitting there, it seemed to me.
Ms. Martinez shook her head all sadly.
“I realize it isn’t entirely your fault,” Ms. Martinez went on. “You’ve probably been getting A’s in your English classes for years using the same cartoonish slapstick humor and slick popular culture references you used in your writing sample. I’m sure your teachers were too busy dealing with students who couldn’t write at all to deal with one who clearly can. But, Mia, don’t you see? This kind of self-conscious pseudo-zaniness has no place in a serious expositional work. If you don’t learn to discipline yourself, you’ll never grow as a writer. Pieces like this one you handed in to me only prove that you have a way with words, NOT that you are a writer.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was, I had gotten a B. A B!!! IN ENGLISH.
“If I write a new one,” I asked, “will you accept it in the place of this one, and cancel out my B?”
“If it’s good enough,” Ms. Martinez said. “I don’t want you just dashing off something completely over the top again, Mia. I want you to put some thought into it. I want you to make me think.”
“But,” I protested weakly, “that’s what I tried to do in my piece about the snails—”
“By comparing your pouring ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia with Pink’s refusal to perform for Prince William because he hunts?” Ms. Martinez shuddered. “No, Mia. That didn’t make me think. It just made me sad for your generation.”
Thankfully, just then the warning bell went off, so I had to go.
Which is a good thing, because I was just about to throw up all over my desk, anyway.
Wednesday, September 9, G&T
Michael called during lunch. AEHS students are not supposed to make or receive cell phone calls during class, but at lunch it’s okay.
Anyway, he was all, “What happened to you last night? We were IMing, and then you just disappeared!”
Me:
Oh, yeah. Sorry. Rocky woke up crying, and I had go sing him back to sleep.
Michael:
Oh. So everything’s okay?
Me:
Well, I mean, if you think the fact that two days into the school year I’m already flunking Geometry, I’m being forced to run for student council president against my will, and my new English teacher thinks I’m a talentless hack is okay, then yeah, I guess so.
Michael:
I don’t think any of those things are okay. Have you talked to—who do you have? Harding? He’s a decent guy—about getting some extra help in his class? Or if you want, we can go over the chapter together on Saturday, when I see you. And how could your English teacher think you’re a talentless hack? You’re the best writer I know. And as for the student council thing, Mia, just tell Lilly you don’t care WHAT her plan is, you have enough to worry about, and you don’t want to run. What’s the worst that could happen?
Ha. That is all so easy for Michael to say. I mean, he is not afraid of his sister—not even a little bit, like
But a B????
I have never gotten a B on an English assignment in my life!!!!
There must be some mistake.
I was in so much shock after I got my paper back that I think I just sat there with my mouth hanging open for a very long period of time…long enough for the line of people gathered around Ms. Martinez’s desk to thin out enough for her to finally notice me, and go, “Yes, Mia? Do you have a question?”
“This is a B,” was all I managed to choke out. On account of my throat had kind of closed up. And my palms were sweaty. And my fingers were shaking.
Because I have never gotten a B on an English assignment before. Never, never, never, never…
“Mia, you’re a very good writer,” Ms. Martinez said. “But you lack discipline.”
“I do?” I licked my lips. They had gotten all parched, just while I was sitting there, it seemed to me.
Ms. Martinez shook her head all sadly.
“I realize it isn’t entirely your fault,” Ms. Martinez went on. “You’ve probably been getting A’s in your English classes for years using the same cartoonish slapstick humor and slick popular culture references you used in your writing sample. I’m sure your teachers were too busy dealing with students who couldn’t write at all to deal with one who clearly can. But, Mia, don’t you see? This kind of self-conscious pseudo-zaniness has no place in a serious expositional work. If you don’t learn to discipline yourself, you’ll never grow as a writer. Pieces like this one you handed in to me only prove that you have a way with words, NOT that you are a writer.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was, I had gotten a B. A B!!! IN ENGLISH.
“If I write a new one,” I asked, “will you accept it in the place of this one, and cancel out my B?”
“If it’s good enough,” Ms. Martinez said. “I don’t want you just dashing off something completely over the top again, Mia. I want you to put some thought into it. I want you to make me think.”
“But,” I protested weakly, “that’s what I tried to do in my piece about the snails—”
“By comparing your pouring ten thousand snails into the Bay of Genovia with Pink’s refusal to perform for Prince William because he hunts?” Ms. Martinez shuddered. “No, Mia. That didn’t make me think. It just made me sad for your generation.”
Thankfully, just then the warning bell went off, so I had to go.
Which is a good thing, because I was just about to throw up all over my desk, anyway.
Wednesday, September 9, G&T
Michael called during lunch. AEHS students are not supposed to make or receive cell phone calls during class, but at lunch it’s okay.
Anyway, he was all, “What happened to you last night? We were IMing, and then you just disappeared!”
Me:
Oh, yeah. Sorry. Rocky woke up crying, and I had go sing him back to sleep.
Michael:
Oh. So everything’s okay?
Me:
Well, I mean, if you think the fact that two days into the school year I’m already flunking Geometry, I’m being forced to run for student council president against my will, and my new English teacher thinks I’m a talentless hack is okay, then yeah, I guess so.
Michael:
I don’t think any of those things are okay. Have you talked to—who do you have? Harding? He’s a decent guy—about getting some extra help in his class? Or if you want, we can go over the chapter together on Saturday, when I see you. And how could your English teacher think you’re a talentless hack? You’re the best writer I know. And as for the student council thing, Mia, just tell Lilly you don’t care WHAT her plan is, you have enough to worry about, and you don’t want to run. What’s the worst that could happen?
Ha. That is all so easy for Michael to say. I mean, he is not afraid of his sister—not even a little bit, like
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