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I knew I wanted to be a writer when I was 8 years old. So I told my Dad; he laughed and said, “Writing isn’t a job; it’s a hobby, but go ahead and write as much as you want to now because there won’t be any time for it when you’re an adult.” I was discouraged by his words, but I did continue writing, perhaps not as much as I might have had he offered encouraging words instead. Nevertheless, I kept writing and continued to get better at it.
Years later, when I was in eighth grade, I got a solid indication I might have what it takes to make it as a writer. It came as an F on an English paper. That’s right, the grade of F as in “Failure.” I was assigned a book report. I got the book, read it, wrote the report, and turned it in.
A few days later, my English literature teacher rolled into the classroom with an overhead projector and announced, “Today I’m going to teach you how to write a book report by showing you examples of your classmates’ work. You’ll see an A paper, a B paper, a C paper, and even an F paper. There was a titter about the room as we all wondered who got the F.
She started with the A paper, which she projected onto the screen in the front of the classroom. “Allison gets an A because she dotted all her i’s and crossed all her t’s.” The next paper was the B paper. “Billy gets a B because he did this, but didn’t do that.” Next was the C paper. “Corky gets a C because blah, blah, blah….” Finally, she put the F paper on the screen. And, there it was, a big black F right beside my name.
I Was Socked With Shame
Have you ever gotten that sick, sinking feeling in your stomach when you’re surprised to find out you’ve done something wrong? It’s called shame, and I was stunned by it. I was actually shocked, because I had never gotten an F on anything before. I always made A’s or B’s on all my homework and tests.
Then she started to explain. “Robert gets an F on his paper because he plagiarized his work. Plagiarism means that he copied his work from the book he was supposed to read. I say ‘supposed’ to read, because I don’t believe he read this book at all. He copied his book report directly from the inside flap of the book’s dust jacket.” By the tone of her voice, the class could tell she was tickled to have caught such a criminal, and she was fully intent on making an example of my transgression and shaming me properly.
Instead of shame, that sick, sinking feeling went away, and it was replaced with elation. The teacher could see my smiling face through the dimmed lights of the classroom, and walked up to me. She pointed her finger at my face and said, “Robert Wilson, what are you smiling about? Plagiarism is a serious offense!” I replied, “I’m smiling because I didn’t copy my book report from the book. I actually wrote it! And, if you think I copied it, then I must write as well as an adult published author.”
When I said that, she got all flustered and yanked my paper off the overhead projector. She then replied, “Well, I’ll have to go to the library and look at that book for myself.”
I’d Been Judged Like a Book Cover
My teacher made an assumption about my character that I was a slacker who couldn’t possibly write a good essay. Probably because of the way I dressed. I wore the accepted uniform of a counterculture rebel: long hair, a Vietnam War era army field jacket covered in peace symbol patches, and faded bell-bottom blue jeans. Even some of my classmates made the same assumption. I recall a boy asking me how I handled my parents yelling at me for making poor grades. A good friend, overhearing the question, laughed out loud and told him that I was nearly a straight-A student. He was shocked (hence the adage: “Clothes make the man”).
True to her word, a few days later, my teacher announced to the class: “I’ve been to the library, and Robert Wilson did not copy his book report from the book. However, he does not get an A.” She then gloatingly added, “On closer examination, I found two grammatical errors that an adult published author would never have made.” (She didn’t announce it to the class, but she gave me an A-.)
The False Accusation Gave This Incident Power
This event in my life was a very big deal. It validated my dream of becoming a writer. I longed for a teacher who would be a writing mentor to me, but she would not be the one. Even though my writing was good enough to make her believe I had copied it, that teacher never offered to nurture my skill directly. Unfortunately, I’d embarrassed her—albeit inadvertently—in front of the class. Subsequently, she never gave me any praise or encouragement. Nevertheless, I was inspired indirectly. I was thrilled that she accused me of plagiarism. It helped me believe in my ability to write at a time when I lacked the temerity to believe it myself. And, for that, I’m eternally grateful. If she had simply given me an A, it would never have impacted my confidence as a writer.
Personal Perspectives Essential Reads
As I noted in a previous post, my writing confidence would take several hits over the years. And, this plagiarism incident helped sustain my battle-scarred self-belief until it became permanent.
POSTSCRIPT: Ironically, my first published book was mostly plagiarized. OFF THE WALL: The Best Graffiti Off the Walls of America is an illustrated collection of bathroom graffiti. Other than the introduction, art direction, title, and subtitles (and the idea for the book), I copied someone else’s words (albeit from bathroom walls). You could say I memorialized the witticisms scrawled on restroom stalls that by now would be long painted over. Perhaps I should’ve mailed a copy to my eighth-grade English lit teacher. 😉
