“Triumph and Tragedy.”
Early on, that would have been the title of the story of his writing
career. Through grammar school, he was the one who underachieved.
The potential that lied within him laid dormant; like a sleeping
volcano, waiting for enough pressure to build when it would unleash.
He wrote well, but poor spelling and grammar kept his ability
stinted. Like a seed on the wind, it appeared that he might never
find a home as a writer.
He went on to college where
the volcano then began to tremble. He took one English class and
then another. And with each lesson, he discovered his own voice and
improved his basics. He wrote several papers, receiving high praise
on some, and many areas of improvement on others. The fragile seed
had landed on fertile soil and had taken root. But for his writing
to truly flourish, it would take the nourishment of a one final
class.
Like one of Jacks magic
beans, his writing grew and bloomed under the skilled tutelage of his
instructor. As a sculptor refining a hewn stone into a beautiful
work of art, his writing began to take shape. Yet as uncertain as
his outlook remained, the future of his writing was bright. Judging
his book by its cover, the title of his book would soon change to
read only “Triumph.”
