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A week after I turned in the essay, Trey Greer read it aloud to the class.

"There is something extraordinary about this essay," he said, "and I want you tell me what it is."

Extraordinary! Me! It was just as I had long suspected: I was a genius. I was born to be a Writer. I would be famous!

When Trey finished reading he said, "What is it that makes this essay worth our time?
Nobody said anything.

"It's not the writing," he said. "There's nothing extraordinary about that."

Not the writing? I sank a little lower in my desk. What else could possibly make an essay extraordinary?

"I'll tell you," he said to the silent, bored class. "The person who wrote this actually took the time to see the person she was describing. That's what writing is all about. Seeing. It is the sacred duty of the writer to pay attention, to see the world."

So what? I didn't want to see the world. I wanted the world to see me. Trey Greer, I decided, had no idea what he was talking about.