Great story. I wish I had one to tell like yours. Rated.

Hmm, that's a tough one. Maybe it was the editor at Newsweek who decided to print my letter back in the late 1970's. Or, maybe it was my mom. Or, maybe I'm still waiting :-(

My 9th grade English teacher, Russ Brazell. I threw my notebook into the wall, and he whacked me square on the back of the head with his heavy Oxford class ring. I still can feel the welt. He told me, and I believed him, that I could write, and was good enough to write.

Nice post. Waiting for the story about the girl on the right.

My first, first was a college professor who made a throw away comment about an autobiography I wrote (short and a requirement for the course). She said after 13 years of reading these bios, it was one of the best.

My second "first" was another college instructor (this time a creative non-fiction course) who assigned a writing assignment for new work, due in 3 days. When I turned in my story---which turned out to be the first draft of an essay I finished many years later and posted here in November---the instructor called me and said that I apparently had misunderstood the assignment.

He said, "I wanted a first draft of something new."

I told him, "yeah."

And he said, "So, why did you turn this in?"

And I said, "because that's a first draft of a story I wrote this weekend."

He said, "You're kidding."

I said, "Sweartogod."

And he said, "Damn."

this was great!
an editor of a small local weekly that published my first article. Then Martha Stewart. She replied straight to me, in her letter "from the editor" portion of her magazine, after I so boldy wrote about content verses ad space in her beloved publication. I had made an impact! Go figure!

Your story makes smile as I think back to my junior year in high school, and to an english teacher who understood my confusion and encouraged my words. --rated--

My fifth grade teacher Mrs. Feinstein. She told my parents, "mark my words, this one may do all sorts of things with her life, but she is a writer."

10th andn 11th grade english teacher. He hung himself my sophomore year in college.

Mrs. LeSeure.

Roger, while I don't consider myself a writer I will say that in the writing department the first sign of encouragement was to have my submission published in the "Campus Comedy" section of "Reader's Digest" in 1979. No Tippem system within sight, but instead a nice check for $200 that didn't bounce! My thanks go out to the anonymous editor who picked my story for publication.

There was a student teacher in third grade who was always kind. She complimented a poem I wrote for my mom.
My 12th grade English teacher was awesome. She made me feel good, too. I had a creative writing class with Barry Hannah (Bats Out of Hell is one of his more famous ones, but I realize some won't know him). He is a guy's guy and not--ahem--effusive with praise, but he looked up from something I wrote one day and said, "You know, you could do this for a living."
Well, maybe eventually...

My third-grade teacher, who after reading the stories I wrote, told me that I had more talent in my little finger than most people do all over. 20+ years later, I still have that note.

More recently, my husband. He's pretty amazing.

Also: loved this.

When I cashed my first advance check from the publisher who was going to publish my book, Nov. 1975.
Great Story!
Rated

Outside of friends and family, some 10 years ago I submitted a story to a small travel magazine (now defunct). The editor told me that her assistant editor had tears in his eyes when he reached the end. Somehow not caused by the pain of reading my words.

The editor at Newsday who bought my essay about my brother-in-law's death from AIDS, way back in 1985, and who fought with her editor to print it without a byline; the point of the piece was that his death was bad enough, but his parents were so ashamed of it they lied about it. Since my name was the same as theirs, I would have "outed" him had it been bylined. However, the $75 check had my name on it!

Great post, Roger.

No one person ever got me going about writing. Writing was always part of my job description. I do remember that when I got to the GAO and was a Division Director we would write the reports and then draft the testimony for Comptroller General, Elmer Staats at that time. I would then accompany him to have the detailed answers that he could not expect to have. After delegating several of his testimony writing assignments to the chief writer of the report, I got a tersely worded note from Elmer: "Monte, I know that I have told you to delegate as much as possible, but that does not include writing my testimony. I have known for years how you write testimony, so from now on, you write mine."

Monte

My start into serious writing?

For many of my experiences it has cme thrugh a series of events. I have spoken to some degree on the blog at
http://open.salon.com/blog/jonmagee/2009/04/19/paperback_writer_beatles_story_of_the_story_writer

A professor at a Jr. College had assigned everyone to keep a journal. He'd give us thought provoking questions that we would write about.
The first week of journal entries and he acted like he'd found the next great American author. Boy, was he off!
Rated

Oh man, more karma from you, just when I can really use it too. This is a beautiful story, in which I am honored to take a back seat to your very wise friend. (And on the other post I thought you were referring to Maria, duh).

Let me tell you something else, friend. Your writing just gets better and better. Tighter, cleaner, more evocative, your emotions more controlled... just enough to unravel ours. This piece is a perfect example. Bravo on the extremely well-deserved EP.

My mother who told me that no matter where I ended up and what I ended up doing, she thought I should write because she enjoyed my stories. She still doesn't know I post on OS.

Your's is a much better story.

For me - It was an English teacher in high school. A nun, no less. But she was the best English teacher I ever had.

Later, I learned that she left the nunnery to marry our former pastor, who left the priesthood.

Catholic school was big on English and writing, so I have that to be grateful for.

Rated for first making me think you were sharing your first sex encounter.

Hey , Cathy's right....we should share first sex encounters....you be first...that would be a whole lot of fun. Get it on babycakes.

Mrs. Gelber in eighth grade. She took me aside after I wrote an essay and submitted it in a county-wide contest. I won a book by Anne Morrow Lindburgh.

Her son now advertises on OS-- Dan Gelber. He wants to be our next Florida senator and seems to think ads here will help.

mine was my high-school freshman english teacher--i had turned in a book report, she had me stay after class and told me she had seniors who couldn't write as well as i did, and instead of mentioning that her seniors might need a better teacher, i told her i would write an essay of any length on any topic right there after class...when i turned it in and she read it, she just nodded and said i could go...

My first was... literally... you know... " my first".

And 25 years later he inspires my courage still, daily. The sweetest man in the world :)

Mary Ann Farley

She commented on one of my blogs about a week ago.

I don't really consider myself a writer but my best friend from elementary school does. I think my writing must hit her the way my cousin's amazing music hits me.

I love the way you paint your friends.

good story, makes me smile

My college English teacher, Michael Slaughter, to whom I will be forever grateful!!!

That picture looks like it was taken at Beloit College long before the P.C. Police ripped the fun right out of it (the Womyn's Club didn't exactly possess the humor or intellect of George Carlin either). Well, it was Mary Dilg at Parker who told me that I had talent in my journalism class back in 1989; she was a great teacher. Paul

-Many thanks to all you dropped by!
-AshKW--you can still feel the welt. That's perfect
-Thanks to those who asked for the story of the other girl. It will come---so come back!
-Fabflamingo (I have a friend who collects pink falamingoes!) Martha Stewart---cool!

-Mr. M---somebody who understands one's confusion. Well said.

-Proco---read the comments on ANY given post of yours!

-Gwool---those english teachers could be sensitive. . . .YIKES!

-designator--trust me. If you got paid---you are a writer. THAT is a law that's written somewhere. . .Right Buffy? Right Helen?

-Delia---Barry Hannah---I do know him

-Stim--good to meet you the other night! Tears work.

-junk1 1---or maybe he was right!

-incandescent--sounds like he was wrong---but he ispired you and that was enough

-bluesurly--My Mom and dad usually read my stuff---but I have siblings who wouldn't dream of taking the time---so you are not alone.

-Paul--what a surprise to see you work George Carlin into your comment

-Cathy and Gail---I don't do comedy well. . .so probobly not!

-Monte---you at the GAO---somehow I don't see it.

-Occular---Here's to Mary Ann!

And L and P. . .good advice about the paper. And who knows---I just might BE your imaginary brother.

Stranger things have happened!

I don't know their real name because it was on a screenwriting site like this one called Triggerstreet.com. I had worked on my first screenplay for almost two years and I finally got the guts to submit it. She was a playwright and a producer.

It was the greatest review and she talked about how sincere it was and poignant. I actually looked up the word "poignant."

If my first review had been bad, I doubt if I would be here now, three years, and three screenplays later.

Wonderful post. I can't seem to think of anyone who has validated my writing so sincerely, though several OSers have been generous in their compliments of my posts here. That is what endears me to OS even though I don't post often.
Rated for a great "first" story.

Chicago,
Bless that man!
Okay, my first was the Community College Professor who taught Eng 101, 102, 103 in a night class as I was slogging away on my BS. I had written only grocery lists since high school. She embarrassed me by reading to the class, at length, from every assignment I did. My embarrassment disappeared when the other students liked my stuff--an extraordinary thing to me. She told me that I was a good writer because I had been a good reader for so many years. It was for her that I memorized and declaimed the entire 52 lines of Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas. She was the one.
Thanks for bringing the memory back.

8th grade teacher. Miss Marcia Jensen. I got an A+ on a fiction exercise and she wrote me extensive comments.

(I went to school with such a rotten group of little assholes, it was her first and last year teaching.)

Nice story - well told, and great pics. Congrats on the EP. It's fun to read all the comments about other people's firsts, too.
My first (aside from my Mom, who saved all my poems in an old manilla folder I found when she died) would have to be my high school English Teacher, Ms. Grzyb, whose red pen I hated.
First check from the Chicago Tribune for an essay in what used to be the WomanNews section.

Sr. Mary Paschal, 4th grade, St. Edmund's School, Tonawanda, NY. She was so ancient I thought she was over 100, and she may well have been. I still have the paper where she wrote on top, "You write so well. I expect to read someday 'Lainey Lastname, author of ???" She just totally believed in me.

I started writing about twenty years ago, fresh out of college and feeling very lost and insecure. The first person I showed a story to was my late friend, Vee. She simultaneously fired up my ambition with praise and encouragement, and took the machete of a former Stanford Stegner Fellow to the tangled underbrush of my English usage. Much of what I now know about writing I learned from her; I sure as hell didn't come out of the box, this way.

The second was my first real writing teacher, Laura Schiff. I took many classes from her between 1989 and 1994; she could take a class of students all at varying levels of ability and turn them into better writers by course's end; at nine thirty when class was officially over, a lot of us would carpool down to the local iHop and continue talking about writing over stacks of pancakes until nearly midnight. The title of the class was officially "Short Stories"--which is a laugh to those who know me. Laura knew me, and she wasn't about to let herself or her teaching be boxed in by course titles; she knew I was a novelist waiting to happen. And she made me believe it, too.

Incredibly rated, Roger.
And what ABOUT this "girl on the right?"

I loved this story and the fact that you shared it with us. It reminds me just how fragile writers are, always searching for validation, often remembering the negatives (I still hate my Freshman English college teacher for writing the word "trite" next to a particular sentence and bailing from class that afternoon because I thought he was an asshole). A year later, I took a creative writing class and rarely attended. In fact, I did a quarter's worth of assignments pulling an all nighter. When my folder was returned to me, the only comment next to the "A" was, "your writing has improved immensely over this quarter". I smirked. Miss Davis told me I was born to be a writer in fourth grade and I believed her. Nobody has been able to convince me otherwise.
Great post. And I'll tell you again. You are one cool and handsome dude. And a really good writer. Rated.

My first was my vocal music teacher in 9th grade Dr. Alice Nelson. She recognized my dual abilities as a writer and a musician and songwriter and put me to writing the musical for the entire combined orchestra and vocal music departments. "That Certain Fella" was performed 6 times to practically the entire town because my father invited everybody he knew and he knew a lot of people. This was 1964 and it was a seminal experience for me. I realized that writing and music would become my life and they have. Along with my children, who came later! I am so glad you got this support--it's so vital to the life of a writer--we all need this. I am glad to give it to you--your work is great--very original and you have a distinctive narrative voice I love to read.

Wonderful first! Mine? My fifth grade teacher who wrote in my year book that I was an "inspiration in our [weekly] creative writing class."

Lovely piece. Especially because I think those two pictures are in my own scrapbook!

Fr. Lockwood. Because of at least two times (out of many more, I'm sure) that he threw a blackboard eraser at me -- they did that in those days, maybe they still do. The first was when I started an essay: "As I look back down the vista of years....". BANG!

"Vista of years? You're only fourteen, mutthead (yes, they called you names like that in those days). And you don't even play the piano."

The other was when I used the phrase: "spreading like a green bay tree...". BANG!

"How big is a green bay tree? Fourteen-year olds shouldn't be quoting the Psalms.

I understood his point eventually: I was neither David Herbert Lawrence nor King David. Write about what I knew. In my own voice. And when I did -- no whizzing erasers. I loved that man. Eugene de Valera Lockwood S.J. R.I.P.

What a wonderful memory, Roger! Of course, your friend was right. :)

Since you asked, my first was a 4th grade teacher who accused me of plagiarism on an essay I'd written. After summoning my mother to school, and after I was able to prove that it was not plagiarized, she admitted that she felt that the writing was too good to have been created by a 4th grader, and therefore, had to have been stolen from someone else. She apologized and then made me promise that I'd continue to write. My mother, by the way, has still not commented favorably about my writing to this day. Any day now, it will stop bothering me.

Roger, I am a fan of yours........ummmm, #3 5,477,559,949,309
maybe.

Miss Golden, my 6th grade English teacher, a tough Bostonian, held up my essay, "Winter" and talked to the entire class for an hour on why it was deserving of an A. I was embarrassed, but inspired with a slow burning belief and confidence that would carry through the years. Great post Roger. Wish I'd met you in Chicago......

Great stuff Roger. I'm with those who note you're getting better all the time. Also with those now looking for the story of the girl on the right.

Lonnie---she is in your neck of the woods. . .who knows, you might have stood in back or her at the grocery store.

Gary---that phrase---"the slow burning belief"---you said it all right there.

CCC--you've got a post of your own in that comment. Let me know when you write it.

Steph---I couldn't memorize 52 lines of ANYTHING. . .closest would be to knowing all the words of A Boy named Sue by Johnny Cash. . .

Thank you Poet of Logan Square!

Cartouche-- maybe we should skip my turn being interviewed---I like the way you're describing me right now and maybe we shouldn't change that at all!!

The Village Voice published my horoscope parodies. They said I almost made the cover (little title on top of cover announcing the scopes), but got bumped. Still, it was cool. Great story, Chicago.

Well done. I like your writing style. A lot. Clean, clear sentences with rhythm and heart.

+ I have been on sort of a personal quest to blog every day for six days straight this week, and you gave me an idea for number four. The idea, of course, is to steal your idea and write my own "He Was My First . . . Who Was Yours?" Thanks. Gotta go; gotta get to work on it before the coffee runs out.

Jan Gingold, high school sophomore English teacher c. 1974. She was a delightful, unapologetic "hippie"/ Janis Joplin look-alike who was so far out of the box I'm not sure she knew where the box was at all. She was the first woman in my life I wanted to emulate, in part because of her writing "voice." To this day, I can still remember and savor the warm smiles embedded in her comments in my margins.

She gave us an assignment our first semester with her: to keep a daily journal in any form we wanted. Every day, I wrote diary passages, poetry, little stories, movie ideas....pasted photos into collages on colored construction paper pages, taped little locks of friends' hair, recorded messages on my mother's tape recorder and played them for her....glued tiny little periwinkle shells collected during an exceptionally delicious day at the beach....standard teenage girl stuff....until Jan Gingold got hold of it.

She was the one who told me in no uncertain terms, "You are a unique talent. You bring wisdom beyond your years to your writing. Whatever you do, never let go of that passion, never stop inquiring about everything, and never let anyone succeed in changing your voice...about anything."

(I'm fairly certain everyone in her classes received similar messages from her, as is to be expected from those once-in-a-lifetime, born-to-teach angels among us. That has never diminished the impression she made on my young mind, in the best possible way.) At our 25th reunion in 1997, a few of us were reminiscing (what else is there to do at that sort of event?) about Jan Gingold, and how unique and talented she was....ironic, considering that we all heard that about ourselves from her.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I took her at her word. When I put fingers to keys or pen to paper or my voice to a conversation, I owe at least part of my authenticity to Jan Gingold, for who she was for us, and for this love of my life that I get to experience every day, whenever I choose to put my attention toward what I want to write today or pick up the phone to call and be present for a friend.....and remember that, as Jan said, "It doesn't matter what you write or how you express yourself. All that matters is that you do whatever you do ~ every day ~ as YOU."

Thank you for sharing your story and provoking this sweet memory!
bja

Hmm...compliments or making me believe it.

No teachers for me...but it was the girl I had a crush on in junior high.

Jill told me something I wrote was an answer to her prayers and asked if she could use it to motivate her congregation during Lent.

My first was my current husband, the keeper.

You cheated on that title and got lots of hits for it. Good on you:)

I'd guess it was the newspaper who published my first story at aged 17. Or my high school English teacher who gave me A++ for content over the only F I ever received (for a comma splice--never did THAT again).

I'd guess it was the newspaper who published my first story at aged 17. Or my high school English teacher who gave me A++ for content over the only F I ever received (for a comma splice--never did THAT again).

Hi Chicago Guy,
I love the pictures, you say your friend looks like Charles Manson, I know thats not a good thing. I remember reading that rag-tag book of mystery and killing and cult like figures. I was prouably 14 at the time, or so. I had one teacher at H.S. that I actually liked, her name was Mrs.Dawson, she had me pined as someone that would write. I always had a story, and was always willing to tell it. I woud come across a freshman year at college a English course, he complimented my ability to delve into a story. Which is how I have survived up until today. I love to feel what I write, other wise I just think stuff, until that sensation occurs, and I need to express how I am interpreting that idea, or story what ever it is.

Jack---do it!

Barbara---that is a beautiful recollection. Thank you!

Mary T---he sure did a good job!

Penelope, my Mother's best friend, had married a second time. His name was Charles Lubar, and he was a very patrician, reserved man who intimidate me enormously. I was only nine or ten, and very antisocial. When my mother had company, I would either stay upstairs and read, or go into her den and hammer away at her typewriter, writing plays and casting my various friends and couins as I wrote. Charles happened to find me there one evening because he hadn't even known I was in the house, and couldn't imagine who was typing. Without asking he snatched the paper from the typewriter, read it, handed it back to me, and said, "You're quite good. I'll tell your mother to encourage you in this pursuit." He and Penelope divorced shortly afterwards but I will always remember that moment of validation, mixed with terror. I still feel it today.

Well done my friend. For me it was a job promotion. I had worked for a large company as a salesman and I was successful. The next thing I knew I was now a sales instructor and the stuff the instruction staff was using was weak. So I rewrote it. To my amazement... everyone loved the new stuff and they convinced me that they were sincere. I've been a different man ever since.
Extraordinary post my friend. Good to "see" you again.

Mr. Heston - English teacher in HS - I can't remember which grade now. Nice piece - love the title and lead in.

Notes---that is a really interesting idea. A validation,terror cocktail. I could envision that being incredibly motivating. But I could envision it also being quite scary. I guess you got to get the balance right, huh?

Harp, good to hear from you!!! Interestingly I took the same path, professionally, as you did,---but I did it in the reverse order. I was a sales trainer and did so well at that---that they made me a sales manager. Eventually I went back to training---and 90% of what I've written has been in that area.

Leonde--here's to the English teachers of the world. I think every school had the "cool" one. Ours was actually named Mr. Pink