A Writing Experience

A great experience happened to me when I was 13 as an 8th grader, or 2nd year junior high school student as they say here in Japan. Before I tell you about this experience, I must fill you in on my school back in those days. I was lucky enough to go to a small private school, located in the middle of the beautiful Laurel Mountains in Western Pennsylvania. The school was small, and founded by the Mellon family of the prominent Mellon Bank history. In fact, I was classmates and friends with the Mellon children. At any rate, the scenery was incredible in the mountains, and our school was on the banks of a rushing river surrounded by swaying pine trees. My family lived in the nearby town of Greensburg, so named for it's own towering trees, about 40 miles away. As such, we had to take a long bus ride to school every morning and evening, a feat which I endured (but now have found memories of) for eight years. The teacher-student ratio was about 8 to 1; in fact, in my whole class there were only about 10 or 11 people. It was a great experience. I'm happy to say the school still lives on.

Now on to the experience. A writing contest was offered by the Daughters of the American Revolution, or DAR. Some of you may be aware of this organization. They work to keep the memory of the Revolution alive. Since this group sponsored the contest, the theme was to be kept around the focus of that drastic time, but could be related to any event and could be fiction or non-fiction. At first I had to think long and hard what to write about. I knew I wanted to make it fiction. Should I create a character? In what situation should I involve my character? What will happen? I thought too much, became confused. I approached my father with my predicament. "What direction should I take this writing?" I asked. He thought. He came back with an idea: why not write a series of letters from a war-torn soldier on the battlefield to his mother back at home? I imagined what I could do with that premise. I thought long and hard and asked my parents for ideas, advice. I let my parents read the stories as I wrote. They gave more advice, I wrote, revised, wrote more. Finally, the deadline was approaching, and I was done. I was ready...to...submit my letters...to the contest...heart beat, sweat, fast pulse. I did it. Took the plunge. Submitted the letters. I waited for a month.

Finally, a letter arrived at my house about the contest. I was afraid to open it. Nervous, more sweat, fast pulse. I was afraid to read it, so my mother read it for me. A smile came on her face. She read, "first prize..." not me. Second prize, again, another student. Third prize, Jeff Morrow! I was happy when I heard this news. Out of the whole school (however small it was), I, Jeff, had won third. I was happy! Even though I did not win first or second, I was still a winner, happy and proud. I framed the letter. When we received our awards at a special lunch, I was photographed, praised, and commended. Whenever I felt like I couldn't do something, I looked at that letter. I knew that with a little drive and ambition, I could do many, many things. I have, but I still try to do more. I find that it's the things I don't try or ideas that I don't act on that are the most regrettable. This should be a lesson: act on things, because you never know when the chance might be gone forever.