We called her Mrs. C.  She had short blonde hair and a wedding ring the size of Texas. Every day she came to work in a sharp looking outfit and a perfect French manicure. Her class was always my favorite. I’m guessing that she’d read thousands of books by that time. Sure, she’d never written a book but anyone who has read that many knows good writing from bad.

The wife of a surgeon, she didn’t have to work but she came to class each day for the pleasure of it all. As one of the most revered teachers in my high school she sent her students off to colleges as prestigious as Stanford and Annapolis and as small and unknown as the one I chose.

I loved her. Not because she was wise and well read or kind and funny. She was all of those things. But that’s not why I loved her. I loved her because she gave me a C-. It was the only C of any kind that I had ever (and have since) received on a writing assignment. I deserved it and she knew it. Writing  has always come naturally to me.

From the moment I could hold a pencil and write my name in squiggly letters across the top of a page I’ve been able to wow people with my writing. My second grade teacher was the first who told me I’d grow up to be an author. Every teacher I had since agreed with his assessment. Because I possessed a little bit of raw talent nobody ever gave much thought to helping me develop it—until my senior year in high school.

She saw potential in me and she wanted me to know it. That school year she marked up my papers like red was her favorite color. During timed writings I was usually the first in my class to finish, so she’d send me back to my desk.

“Just write for five more minutes,” she’d say, “and your essay will be that much better.” Her voice is still the one I hear in my head when I’m nearing a deadline for a book or an article. Nine years after leaving her classroom I still write for five more minutes hoping that it will take my work from good to great.

Two years after leaving her classroom I was offered my first publishing contract, and I sent her an autographed copy of The Divine Dance. I always wondered what she thought—as my teacher—when I found success and satisfaction as a writer. Was she surprised? Proud? Had she already moved on to new students with their own dreams and stopped caring?

This week I got my answer. No, I didn’t hear from Mrs. C. (although it would be nice to). One of my own writing students entered and won a writing contest and will be getting her first official byline—and a trip to a writers and speakers conference. When I got the email containing the good news I screamed. I was so proud of my student in that moment that I felt like I had won something too.

The truth is I had. There’s an immense amount of satisfaction that comes from watching someone else realize his or her potential. I don’t want my students to ever wonder if I am proud of them and all they accomplish. So, for the record, I want to publicly congratulate my former student, Sarah Rupp, on winning her first writing contest.

Great job, Sarah! This will be the first of many of your writing successes. I am so proud of you.

Tags: Christian Writers Guild, Teaching, writer's contests, Writing

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