Lesson Learned
Transcript: I have a secret. Shhhh, I am masquerading as a writer. No ones know this, but some might suspect. There is a place where writers meet and I sit among them. They hold out their work, which I have learned is really part of themselves, to the others in the group to be judged. First, you must understand something about a person that has accepted the title of writer. They and what they create is a perfect love story. The two offer that love to the reader. “Come and join our embrace. Come and share in the moment with us.” This is what a writer and the work is saying to a busy, fast paced world. “Stop and see things through my eyes,” is what the writer wants to convey to the reader. “Take the time to journey to a place with a different perspective and together we will be better for it.” This is the cry being poured onto a blank page. The inking flowing from a pen, lacing together words that paint pictures with a message calling out to the world…. Looking through my sun room window, I see that the sky is purple with strands of pink. The trees are in dark contrast to the light in the sky. The black chain link fence kisses a white vinyl fence at the corner of the property. The swag of pickets along the top of the vinyl fence stand about a foot above an otherwise solid tongue and groove wall. The branches of a small pussy willow in the fore ground distracts from the abrupt difference in the fences. The buds are starting to form on the drooping limbs, and the snow has melted off the patio. The ground located at the back corner of the property is dark and bare. Nothing has started to grow in the flowerbeds of mulch that define the areas of the garden. It is long past the time to remove the flowers that are spent. Small tan and white sparrows are scratching at the ground instead of hiding among the dried seedpods and leaves. Those leaves are now a strange shade of grey with bits of brown tips at the edge. Strangely, it is beautiful. My eye refocuses on the window and the moisture resting on the inside of the glass. The condensation reminds me that it is still to cold outside and venture into my garden. Now I was at the center of the aquarium standing in front of fifty specifically selected member of a very powerful audience and I was to be the trophy that proved the success of my college's programs that evening. I represented the academics students through my awards, my achievements and my story was one that was meant to impress and persuade. Again the passion flowed through my words and I was surprised at the ease of conveyance. I knew I had their undivided attention and their interest was real. The emotion expressed on their faces was clear that my words were being heard. I understood why I had been asked to speak. I was chosen because my words were able to communicate ideas effectively. It gave me an insight into the importance of words and an understanding that the arrangement of those words are just as important as the words themselves. I had completed the task I had set out to accomplish. The academic pride of the school had been reflected through my speech. I was able to shine and be the symbolic trophy that represented the achievements of the institution. Appreciation & Inspiration My Sketch I was asked to speak on behalf of my college at the Long Island Aquarium. The elegant simplicity of the evening set the stage for my speech. The President, several of the college’s Vice Presidents, Board Members, Deans, a Suffolk County Legislator as well as other successful alumni were among those in attendance. I was the only student in the room. Two days before I had given simpler version of the speech to a budgetary committee for Suffolk County. Two other students and myself were chosen to thank the assembly for the County’s past support and report on the things that we were able to achieve while enrolled. The President of the college and a few board members were present. At the time I did not realize that my speech there would be refocused and presented to potential contributors for my soon to be alma mater. The words flowed freely, the gratitude was genuine and my speech was a success. To each person that has classified herself as a writer this letter is for you. To further inspire, they publish their work. Holding themselves out to the world risking rejection and criticism for something that is more precious to them than gold, their work. A carefully chosen word is drawn from an over flowing well. Again and again the piece is changed, the words rearranged to form the exact concept the writer is seeking. I am unwilling at this point to give myself the status that they have more than earned, the title of writer. But what is a writer? Plato, Aristotle, Isaac Newton, Thomas Aquinas, William Blackstone, Thomas Jefferson, have all authored pieces that have changed the way the world thought. But yet they are not seen as writers. They have written different articles and authored books. They are referred to as great thinkers,
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