In high school, I wanted nothing more than to be a creative writer.
I know, nerd. I was a kid wrapped up in books, poetry and fairytales. I wrote poems and song lyrics and stories. Yup, I was THAT kid.
I poured my heart into every essay, every short story, every imaginative piece. I read books about writing. I copied down beautiful sentences from authors I admired. I wanted to learn how to do that.
But no matter what I did, my English grades were a B+. Try hard? B+. Don’t try? B+. I started to wonder if my teacher even read my essays. (I know now that she did).
One day, I asked my English teacher, Mrs. Walsh, to sit down with me. I needed to know — what could I do to get an A?
She read through my work carefully and said, “It’s good. It’s solid. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s technically correct. It just doesn’t ‘speak’ to me.”
I asked, “How do I learn to write something that does speak to you?”
She smiled — that kind of tired, knowing smile — and said, “That’s not something you learn from a textbook.”
What?????
I admit — there were tears of frustration. Several times.
I asked my father (a psychologist) how I could ‘speak’ to someone. Like all top dads, he said “Your writing speaks to me. Maybe your teacher doesn’t ‘get’ your writing.”
But I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to get an A. I was trying. Really trying. But nothing seemed to move the needle.
Eventually, I gave up on the A. I accepted that I was a solid B+ writer — good, competent, but not exceptional.
And funnily enough, that was exactly what I needed later in life.
Because creative writing isn’t the only kind of writing.
Today, I’m a technical writer, and I’ve spent years training to write clearly, accurately, and with purpose. I’ve become excellent at it — not because of emotional flair or poetic brilliance, but because of structure, logic, and clarity.
But that wasn’t the only surprise I would have with learning about English writing.
Later, I also learned about Global English — a simplified, internationally accessible form of English designed to be clear, neutral, and easy to understand across cultures. And guess what? I struggled with that too.
I wanted my ideas to be expressed with the right tone. I didn’t want to lose accuracy in the logic. It felt like I had to let go of some of my precision to be “clear.” At times, that was hard to accept.
Even now, I’m still learning.
The truth is, there is no single kind of “good writer.”
A good technical writer focuses on accuracy and structure. A good Global English writer focuses on clarity and universal understanding. A good creative writer focuses on emotion, voice, and connection.
They all require different muscles.
Even as a native English speaker, I’m not “naturally great” at all of them. None of us are.
And that’s the point I want my students to understand: You don’t have to master all kinds of English writing. You only have to focus on what you need right now — for your career, your goals, your voice.
It’s okay to grow into other kinds later.
So now, when my students get overwhelmed — when they feel like they’re not “good enough” at English — I tell them this story. About B+. About frustration. About giving up one thing and discovering another.
And how that “failure” helped me find the kind of writing where I could truly thrive. So that they can see a future where they are also thriving in their English writing journey.
Whatever style that may be.