How an Old Dog Learned a New Trick

Or
What I Missed While Saving the World
Or
[How I Hope to Develop My Prose Style]

A typical boy, I worshipped GI Joes. They made possible gravity defying leaps and secretive missions in the backyard jungle. GI Joes allowed me to channel all of my male warrior bravado through ranks of plastic figures, living out dreams of heroism and bravery. When not preserving the world, I would read books, which only enjoyed a short season of favor at one time during my youth. Once the Boxcar Children ceased to fascinate, and I had finished Tolkien’s Middle Earth series, books were a decidedly un-masculine distraction from more competitive ventures, be it GI Joes, basketball, army, or a computer game challenging ones tactical genius against a friend.
For one so uncultured, Hillsdale has been a literature-appreciation boot camp. To my elated astonishment, people have been reading books all this time because they captivate and wield power absolute: to perplex, to delight, and to persuade. This discovery has re-opened my eyes to the joy in reading and the realization that I have squandered much of my life in utter futility. I have missed out on so much, and to increase my insult, the universe seems to laugh at its joke on me for being so long in this discovery. I am heartened, though, in my remorse, by wisdom imparted to me from the GI Joe cartoon: knowing is half the battle. As a possessor of this knowledge I hold a great power that demands great responsibility.
One of the courses in the boot camp of Hillsdale has been in understanding the mechanics of language and the power of words when arranged in that peculiar manner –elusive, and difficult to mimic, yet easy to perceive – which bestows upon prose a supernatural persuasion. This course has taught much, and indeed continues to teach, but its greatest contribution has been to direct my attention to the authors of literature throughout history who merit reading, and who alone are the true masters. Thus, my path to improvement requires an apprenticeship with these. Observing their strokes. Learning their craft. Under their tutelage, my appreciation for the diversity of prose will continue to increase as I learn to imitate them. I had hoped that this journey would begin immediately during my conscription at Hillsdale, but the masters require patience of me, waiting until I can promise them my undistracted attention.
Essayists, too, desire to teach me much. Not until this class had I taken any interest in the wit and superb style of the Epsteinian author. Joe beckons the inquisitive to take and read, take and read, filling their minds with his divining logic. He does not stand alone though; he writes in a field of outstanding authors awaiting my discovery.
In order to apply the lessons of my tutors, I will continue to write essays similar to the ones assigned in this class. Though professional essayists have long laid hidden from my sight, history texts have afforded numerous examples of essays commenting on the times. From these essays I have learned the value of collecting my perceptions and writing them down. Already this semester I have written one such essay for my parents, looking at family and containing the observations of a son who’s moved out. Forthcoming are essays both for my church back home and the one I attend here with observations on the health of the church. Personal essays too await further attention, fleshing out my beliefs and philosophies on a number of relevant topics.
Once these essays are finished, more will no doubt have grabbed my attention, but they will wait, for a number of the papers completed here at school deserve greater attention. One, even, is published in the recesses of the schools database, allowing me to boast proudly that a google search of my name, along with Jonathan Edward’s, will produce my paper. I have added to it some already, but I look forward to re-examining my thesis and giving fresh vigor to thoughts that have lain dormant for a year.
I seek to further improve my skill by taking up the long forgotten art of letter writing. I have never practiced writing letters with any consistency, but I have intended to for long, and the deep friendships formed here at school provide the impetus to apply my skills and continue these friendships after I graduate in May. During my freshman year I wrote mass e-mails to friends and family and I enjoyed looking at life in terms of events that I could describe in narrative. By writing letters I will be able to practice chronicling the events of my life and additionally, writing in pen and paper forces one to contemplate the formulation of sentences before even the first stroke graces the page. Computers invite hastily writing whatever comes to mind without forethought; letters demand at least enough care for the rhythm and organization of sentences to avoid mass deletion.
The course ahead of me is clear and simple. It does not require magical incantations or the possession of esoteric knowledge, only the fortitude to continue reading consistently and the time to write periodically. If I follow this course, I might, one day, be lauded, a learned man of letters. Or not.