by Julie Tollefson
A couple of weeks ago, I shared the stage at an Authors and
Appetizers fund raiser with author Pam Eglinski, who writes suspense,
historical fiction, and time travel novels. In one of life’s crazy
coincidences, Pam’s late husband holds a special place in my memories as
someone who changed my thinking and taught me to be a better writer.
Dr. Edmund Eglinski taught art history at the University of
Kansas. His class introduced me to great artists and their work, but I remember
him as the only professor in my four and a half years of undergraduate
education to really teach me how to write a research paper. He reviewed my
first attempt and gave thoughtful, comprehensive, direct feedback that showed
me the right way to research and write an academic paper.
I never thanked him, in part because at the time, I didn’t
realize what a rare and meaningful gift it was to receive such personalized,
detailed attention.
Reminiscing about Dr. Eglinski and his influence on my
writing brought to mind another individual who made a brief appearance in my
life forty years ago. (Oh, my, where did the decades go?) She was a student teacher in my eighth-grade English
class, and if memory serves, she only worked with us for a few weeks. But what
a lasting impact!
In the most memorable assignment of that period, she asked
us to write an essay describing a basketball. I thought the assignment was
stupid, and I “forgot” to do it until I panicked about 15 minutes before class.
(I’ve always been a rule follower. Skipping class, missing assignments, getting
any grade lower than an “A” gave me massive anxiety.) I scribbled something
along the lines of “round, orange, with black lines” and turned it in. I knew
it wasn’t my best work, but really, the assignment was ridiculous.
Our student teacher, though, as yet too new to the
profession to give up on uncooperative, difficult, know-it-all teenagers,
pulled me aside for a one-on-one chat about my work. She knew what I was
capable of as a writer, she said, and the basketball essay didn’t even come
close. She gave me a second chance and guilted me into taking it.
So I sat, with a basketball in my hands and ran my fingers
over its uneven surface, its original bumps worn smooth in patches by thousands
of bounces on the concrete driveway. I smelled it, dusty and musty and maybe a
hint of dog poop from when it bounced astray? I really looked at its color,
which wasn’t uniformly orange after all.
Then I wrote a detailed, almost poetic, description about
that basketball, and I learned a few things about writing:
1. Don’t settle for easy. My best writing is never easy.
2. Look beyond the obvious and superficial. Sure, a
basketball is orange and round, but it might also be a symbol of love between
father and daughter who bond over March Madness or a symbol of loss, deflated
and abandoned in the weeds beyond the edge of the court at a neighborhood park.
3. Question perception. To me, the assignment was a waste of
time, but our student teacher (I wish I could remember her name!) turned it
into a lifelong lesson.
4. Writing is rewriting.
All writers have long lists of people to thank for helping
them along the publishing path. These two—Dr. Eglinski with his commitment to
showing the right way to approach academic papers and a student teacher who
refused to accept shoddy writing—gave more than they had to and inspired me to
be better as a result.
Who are the people who influenced your life? Have you
thanked them?
