T is for therumtumtugger
“The ABCD’s of That Moment”.
I was fourteen. Stuck in the lonely wasteland of teenage wilderness. My life stretched out in either direction with nothing to view but exams, angst, more exams, and more angst.
Mrs Smith was my English teacher, and I liked her. Well, I tolerated her. She was better than some other teachers. She set us a piece of long homework which ran over several weeks. We had to plan out the plot of a novel, and write a chapter for it. This wasnt something to dash off in few minutes during Neighbours. This piece of homework became a labour of love. I poured my time, effort, heart and soul into this piece of homework, and handed it in with trepidation.
At the end of the next lesson she looked up as we were leaving, Rum Tum Tugger, could I have a quick chat? I trailed obediently up to her desk, and slouched there, frowning nervously, as was my wont.
RTT she gestured incoherently towards my precious chapter, on her desk, as I clenched my fists with nerves. Ive read your piece. Its its amazing. Tell me – do you want to be a novelist?
And there it was. Years of animal stories. Months of horse stories. Notebooks full of tales and snippets and diaries and ideas and characters, and an entire lifetime spent devouring books and reading voraciously
it was all rolled up into that moment and from all that time and effort and obsession emerged one very small word,
Yes.
And until that moment I never realised that being a writer was exactly what I wanted to do. I didnt want to do anything else. That moment I realised that I had always wanted to be a writer, and indeed had never really ever contemplated doing anything else.
Mrs Smith was my mentor. She talked me through the chapter, and gave me constructive criticism as well as praise, and as she talked about writing, and about her writing, a small secret place inside me, away from all the teenage angst and the nervousness and the social agonies
a small place inside me began to shine. And it hasnt stopped since.
RTT
xxx
.
.
For more information on what this is all about, see charmingly neurotic’s diary….
Having had a similiar experience myself, this makes me *so* happy. (and provides a little hope)
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so good!
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i’m waiting for another ‘that moment’ for you — when your novel is hot off the press and in your hands with therumtumtugger on the spine!
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BTW – your diary appears to have expired if I click on your name… please renew!
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wonderful
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yes, it says its expired if *I* click on it too. renew! renew! i’m a poet and i didn’t know it. hehe. and you’re an awesome writer, btw. need a 3rd chapter!!
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How wonderful! I wonder what my kids will think of me in years to come.
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Just read your entries ‘not in my name’ and am leaving a note to let you (& your readers) know, incase you aren’t aware, there’s another march against the occupation of Iraq and freedom for Palestine on the 27th Sept. Go to http://www.stopthewar.org.uk 🙂
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Mmm…interesting stuff. When I was 15/16, I had vague ambitions to become like a Julian Barnesque or Amisesque writer and I wrote a GCSE piece of coursework entitled ‘The Confessions of a sex-mad fifteen year old’ – got an A for it!
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