Spaces

Chapter 1

August 28, 2013.

Every single day the same thing happens: I wake up, I get ready, I go to class, I go to work, and then I head to my dorm. My routine is pretty boring. Everything has to be scheduled. In order to be on track you have to follow certain rules. Stick to the rules, Ella.

Beep. Beep. Beep. 6:15 Am flashing on the digital clock. I've been awake for the past five minutes waiting for the minutes to pass by. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Mornings are a blur.

7:30 am. Ella walk a little bit faster won't you. You're going to be late for Writing Seminar. Room 17. I walk to the fifth row of desk and sit in the middle. I carefully take out my pen and notebook.

"Excuse me," I turned around. A guy was looking at me. This isn't on your schedule Ella. Maybe you shouldn't have turned around. Mr. Smith will start his lesson in three, two, one.

"Class. Glad to see you all here," He said as he started walking across the front of the room.

I felt someone tap my shoulder. It was the guy again.

"I'm sorry, but you dropped your this," he said as he handed me my pencil pouch.

"Thank you," I said and quickly turned around.

"Writing is something that anyone can do, but may not do well. I can come up with a mere sentence using words, letters, vowel sounds. Focus on how you put this together because you can create something beautiful. I'm not saying all of you will become great writers because great writers are born with a passion that cannot be emulated," Mr. Smith said.

The classroom door opened. Someone was running late. I don't understand why people don't have schedules. Everything stays on track with schedules.

"Someone woke up late I see," Mr. Smith said. "Thanks for interrupting me. Everyone is so grateful for that. What's your name?"

"Harry Styles," he replied.

"Well Mr. Styles please don't stand there waiting. Get to your seat," Mr. Smith said. I wanted to laugh, but I just kept it to myself. So much to do today. I noticed that there was an empty seat next to me as Harry tried to scoot through the row of people to get to the seat. He passed by me and faintly said "Excuse me."

He set is book bag on the floor and took out his notebook and pen.

" Class, what is the point of writing?" Mr. Smith said. " There are many answers to this. To entertain, inform, and most important of all communicate with people."

I looked around and saw no one was raising there hand. I slowing began to raise mine, but then someone started to speak. I noticed it was Harry.

" Writing is to express our emotions. Writing is like talking. In some ways it's better," Harry said. I looked at him as he was talking. "When you write, you're able to think about what you are going to say before you say it. When you talk, you say whatever is going through your mind and at that point it's raw and unedited, but writing makes what you said even better."

" Thanks for your take on it Mr. Styles," Mr. Smith said as he was walking to the podium where his lesson book was. " Class for your next assignment I want you to do just that. Let me into your thought process. The difference between writing what you want to say and writing what you feel."

I wrote down the assignment on my agenda.

Just as the class was coming to a close, Mr. Smith asked us to turn in the assignment from the previous week by passing it down the row. I passed my paper over to Harry. He looked at it and smiled before passing it over to the next person.