Wexler 1

Cover Letter
When I first was charged with the task to write this paper, I wasnt quite sure if I had any
specific literacy that I had been developing long enough and had enough experiences with to be
able write five whole pages about it. I know I have a good bit of literacies, but most of them are
not that developed or I developed them rather quickly and uneventfully. But when it finally hit
me that I could use writing as a topic, the words just flowed from there. After a short talk with
my parents, they reminded me of all the things I had forgotten had happened regarding my
writing. Evidently, it was quite a lot. That being the case, I had no trouble at all coming up with
content to include. It was initially a bit of a difficult task deciding how exactly I was going to
organize the paper, but because it was supposed to be a narrative, I figured a story told in
chronological order seemed the most fitting. One paragraph that I know just had to be included
was the story about my escapades in creative writing. Just knowing my written word can carry
that much weight feels pretty good inside and I would be remiss if didnt mention that particular
instance. I could have probably done without the paragraph about Spazafora because its not
completely relevant to the theme, but it is an interesting tidbit for the reader. But I have one
question for you. What do you think of my writing style? Does it feel more personal and
interesting than an average essay writing technique?

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Andrew Wexler
Professor Rebecca Agosta
UWRT 1101-008
15 Feburary 2015
My Ascension to Literacy
If there is any skill I possess that is worthy of anything close to five pages of narrative,
that skill would in fact be that of which I am doing right now: Writing. Over the years my ability
to write has gone from minimally boring to exceptionally interesting; however it did not get this
way overnight. There were many trials and tribulations I had to go through in order to have
reached my current state of expertise.
Our story begins many years ago, when I was but a mere child, starting school for the
first time, learning to read and write. I always knew I was different than the rest of my peers and
that I didnt want to be the same as everybody else. This trait was apparent at a very early age;
especially through my writing. As is usual with learning a language, the first step was to be able
to draw the letters. I had always written large, not because I couldnt write smaller, but perhaps I
felt as if my words demanded more space. As with all techniques, I was told there was a proper
method and order of strokes in which I needed to draw letters. There was a place to start, a place
to end, and an order to go in. I followed none of these rules. I illustrated my letters however I
wanted, in whatever order I wanted. The teacher didnt like this. She told me there was only one
way to do it and that it had to be done like that. Well I didnt listen; I continued to do things my

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way, not caring about something as insignificant as proper technique. In my eyes, it didnt matter
how I got to my destination, as long as I did in fact get there. My parents agreed and encouraged
me to continue doing what I felt was right.
A few years later and I found myself in the third grade. I had the best teacher ever; his
name was Mr. Miller, and what from I can remember, he was a goofy old guy with a thick, white
moustache. At this point in my life, I had the ability to write full sentences and even compile
them into stories. I remember there was always a lot of writing that would take place in this
class; lucky for me, because I loved writing at this age. Like most children at this age, I wasnt
grammatically exceptional in my writing, however I was exceptionally creative. I dont
remember very much from this age, but I was told that my writing was very unique and creative.
Mr. Miller encouraged this; as I mentioned, he was a very goofy and fun-loving individual, so he
was always entertained by the wacky and whimsical things I would come up with. He even told
my parents at one point that I was going to be the next Stephen King. A very generous
assumption on his part, but I could understand why he might say that. Nevertheless, I always
think back to him saying that. It was people like him that gave me the drive and motivation to get
where I am today.
However, where there are sponsors, there are also obstacles; and the biggest obstacle I
could think of was my fourth grade teacher: Ms. Spadafora. We used to call her Spazafora
because shed come into class every day with a large coffee and two big bottles of diet coke. You
can imagine how that played out by the end of the day. Anyway, she was a terrible teacher; she
had no idea what she was doing, she acted like she was on some weird medication, and worst of
all, she accused me of being mentally handicapped. Yes, you read that correctly. My fourth grade
teacher accused me of being retarded or autistic because of the very thing I was previously

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praised for: my writing. Needless to say, my parents were not at all happy with this accusation.
She recommended that I get tested, so thats just what we did; not because I or my parents
thought I was mentally handicapped, but because we wanted to prove that whack-job wrong. So
we went to see a well-known and respected psychiatrist that specialized in children; we made
sure we went to the best of the best for this occasion. I remember going to his office multiple
days and having to preform various types of tests and mental exercises. When all was said and
done, the results had come back with just what my parents and I had expected: I was an
extremely creative thinker. We had known this all along, but it was still nice to rub it in my
teachers face. Surprisingly enough, she is still employed to this day. Im lead to believe theres a
reason they cant fire her.
The next chapter in my story of literacy isnt quite as fascinating, but it is still worth
noting. Throughout middle school, there has never really been any teacher that stuck out and thus
has held a prominent place in my memory, but I do remember them all as a collective whole.
Ordinarily, middle school is the time when writing begins to become polished and shaped into
what is deemed acceptable for society. That being said, I did not get along with my English
teachers. There were certain habits I chose to keep that they did not deem as proper English.
For instance, I did not enjoy using paragraphs; I did not see the point in chopping up my writing
like that. I see writing as an art form, and as such it must be pleasing to the senses. I believed that
paragraphs and indentation looked choppy and jagged as opposed to a long passage that flowed
down the page. My teachers had different opinions. In addition to that, there was also the matter
of how I presented myself in written form. Keeping with the idea that writing is an art form, I
was not too keen on how they tried to regulate my art. They told me that there is a certain way to
say things and that it must sound neat and proper. The way I wrote then and still do today, is an

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interesting technique that comes off very speech-like. Most people do not understand and instead
pass it off as improper. The way I write is meant to entertain the reader, as if I was physically
there talking to them. I write like I talk: semi-formal, but with personality; I make reference to
the world outside the page (a technique usually referred to as breaking the fourth wall, in
motion pictures). Im an individual and I like that to be seen through my writing. If writing was
meant to be regulated and done the same by everybody, it would be a chore, which is what my
teachers made it out to be. So many rules and regulations that make no sense: dont mention
yourself or the reader in writing? Dont start a sentence with and or but? Cite your sources in
an inefficient and outdated way? Unlike most writers, I dared to ask why and questioned the way
things are. I felt as if I was living in a dictatorship of literature and I was not going to stand for it.
This brings me to the next stage in my literary legacy: high school. If I was given a hard
time in elementary school, you can imagine the kind of people I had to deal with in a high school
setting. Surprisingly enough, there isnt really anything worth mentioning that my English
teachers did. But what happened in my creative writing class is a different story. Before you read
on, make certain that you understand that the name of the class I was taking was in fact Creative
Writing. As such, you would expect that the instructor of the class would encourage creative
thought and individualism; that was not the case. This teacher was not at all qualified to be a
creative writing instructor. Her thought process was so linear and inside-the-box that she and I
definitely butted heads over the course of that class. Because it wouldnt be an interesting story if
I didnt, I shall provide a few examples for your entertainment and illustration of my point: Each
day in class, a daily journal was given; it would feature a prompt of which we would have to
come up with a creative response to. As expected, most people just followed exactly what the
prompt was asking as if there was only one answer to give. I however, dissected the prompt and,

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while still keeping with idea of it, completely turned it around and flipped it upside down, giving
the most creative response I could think of. My rendition of everything would usually come
across completely out there and, more times than not, comical. The only other person who
actually saw the greatness in my writing was my friend who was also taking the class. He
encouraged me to continue writing the way I was and not to change on behalf of anybody else.
Everyone else in the class, including the teacher, would dismiss my writing as ridiculous and
incoherent garbage. Well I didnt think their responses were all that interesting either. Like I
mentioned before, they all just pumped out the same factory model response, which was usually
pretty serious and mundane. Aside from my writing being dismissed by my peers, it usually
didnt cause anything more than just a roll of the eyes; that is until one day when the biggest
overreaction of the year was had by the collective students and faculty. To set the scene for this
titillating tale, I should mention that, because of weather, there was an excess of missed school
days; because of this, we had to have school on a Saturday. So there I was, sitting in creative
writing class on a Friday afternoon, pretty peeved about having to go to school the following day.
Lucky for me, it was free journal entry Friday, which meant I could vent my frustration the best
way I knew how: through writing. So when it came time to write out journals, I decided to come
up with a story about the sheer madness that would ensue, should school ever be held on a
Saturday. This story was ridiculous to say the least. To give a short summary, it involved school
buses raining down from the sky, filled with Chinese fireworks, driven by Jackie Chan clones.
From then, the Jackies had to fight packs of mutant wolf people from another time, in order to
protect the fireworks from being stolen for the wolf people to use in their weird wolf people
Chinese New Year themed tennis match. Needless to say, the story was beyond weird and was all
around harmless in nature. But because of the ending, where there was a huge explosion that left

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the school sitting unharmed on a pillar of stone inside a giant crater of what used to be the
surrounding area. People were not amused. In fact, I was called to the principals office later that
day and accused of being a terrorist! They even called my parents, forcing them to leave work in
order to discuss this oh so pressing matter. The principal talked to me and my parents about
how this was unacceptable and that I could risk suspension for this. My parents listened and
played along like responsible adults; I ended up getting off scot-free by the end of it.
Afterwards, me and my parents left the office and immediately busted out laughing at how
ridiculous the claim was. We agreed that I should probably save anything dealing with schools
for my personal writing rather than for class, as the teachers were far too paranoid to handle my
writing and we didnt feel like having to deal with that nonsense again.
So thats my story. It certainly has been an interesting journey. Despite a few minor
bumps along the road, I was able to get to where I am thanks to sponsors like Mr. Miller, my
friends, my parents, as well as everybody else who believed in me. Without them, I dont think I
would have had the strength to make it through all the challenges I have faced. Im in college
now and I do hope my professors appreciate my writing for what it truly is: creative art.