Writing...for Love...Loving...to write

When I was in eleventh grade at Lakehill Prepartory School, English class that year was taught by Lyda Slayton. The course was British Literature.

I never really liked British Lit outside of Shakespeare, but Slayton made it even worse. She was mean, like literally mean, and she was a bit sexist. There were only six males in my class; William, Hampton, Mitch, Timmy, John and me, and I don't remember any of us ever getting a break.

Throughout the course of the year, it only got worse as she chastised us for everything. At one point, she told me that I couldn't write. She told my parents the same thing. In a parent/teacher conference she disrespected my parents, and more importantly my father by saying that I was disruptive and a bad influence and then challenging my father when he defended me. I didn't disrupt class, and I always turned my assignments in on time. The lady just didn't like any of us, flat out.

Despite all of the public harassment in her class, she was a fair grader. Now, that always surprised me. If I couldn't write, then how did I receive such high marks? That's what was so crazy about the experience. I'll never forget how I sat there in that class, and my paper on Romeo and Juliet received a 100, the highest score, and yet the praise and adoration went to two female students in the class. But the thing was, I believed her, I believed I couldn't write because my teacher told me so.

Senior year, my teacher, Mrs. LeaAnn Mott was a proponent of my writing and she definitely encouraged me to continue. She taught Senior English. When it came time to possibly take A.P. English with Slayton, or Senior English with Mott, I jumped at the chance for the latter, not because of the supposed rigor of the course but because I didn't want to spend another year being put upon.

In college it only got a little better. I'll never forget working for the student newspaper, The Maroon Tiger in the fall of 1998. I had recently been hired as the Sports Editor, and after a power struggle over the Editor in Chief position, the departing EIC wrote in his notes that I was the 'worst writer he had ever read.' But, he went on to say that my writing 'showed promise, had humor and was hard to put down.' That was Saeed Ahmed who said that. I liked Saeed before that, and less after.

After he left the newspaper, I eventually became one of, if not the most read writer on the staff and the most recognizable name in the Atlanta University Center for my journalistic efforts.

I continue to write, because I love to. I write poems, short stories, scripts, blogs and now...papers. Either way, I love to write. Yesterday, I wrote two poems, a blog entry and then a paper about the preeminent book on the desegregation of the University of Georgia, 'We Shall Not Be Moved.'

When you find something that you love to do, I don't think you should ever stop. I love to write, so I do. I love taking pictures, so I do. I love art and music, so I go to museums, read books on art and listen to all types of music.

Also, I had to realize that I couldn't listen to what others were saying, and I had to do what I wanted to do, for myself. If we are beholden to the opinions of others, we can never find happiness because what we do will not be for us, but rather for them. Every day, I am working to make that the case in my life. Just do what you love, and happiness will come, it has no choice.

Writing...for Love...Loving...to write.