The Heat of Critique

“Oh, Alyssa. Good try, but take another stab at it.”

Oh, Alyssa? OH, ALYSSA??

Oh, shit.

When my non-fiction Professor (Jennifer Brice) wrote this on my first assignment, I felt pretty close to giving up. I remember the assignment vividly: “On Practice.” We were to write a short memoir on something we had to work at.

I didn’t understand. I read and reread and reread again the example Prof. Brice had given us.

The only thing I could ever remember practicing was the piano–long hours at that bench, smooth ivory under my fingers, frustration on my mind.

I deserved the “Oh, Alyssa.”

My piece lacked focus. It read like a college admissions essay (ironically, I did write my supplemental essay on piano, but even this piece was more successful than my failed assignment). It had no depth, no description, no motive, no heart.

It just had nothing.

This was a little over three years ago: I was the only sophomore in a classroom of seniors; I was intimidated; and I was timid.

A lot has changed–my confidence, my writing style, my confidence IN my writing style. I took a second class with Prof. Brice my senior year. On the final piece I wrote for her she scribbled a long (and kind) note and a recommendation that I turn this draft into a feature for the local newspaper.

Still, we’ve all had those standstill moments where we question our skills–moments where the criticism, even if expected, burns right through the skin. By now I’ve realized all I can do is grab some ice and keep on writing.

Tagged as: Critique, memoir, Writing