Reflections of a Spectrum Senior
BY ANUSHA SENAPATI '24
Crouched in front of a new Chromebook, my fingers paused, hovering over my keyboard. Adding my name to The Spectrum mailing list was easy, but drafting an outline? With the looming fear of upperclassmen editors? It was simply all too much for the once-shy, quarantined teenage girl.
And so, freshman me laid back, disappointed with herself for being a bad writer. It was true that I struggled to get the words on paper. And it was also true that I’d then descend into despair within the pages of previous issues, searching for bits of inspiration to guide my work. What I hadn’t realized then was that I needed to find my very own voice. Pouring out my thoughts for the entire school to read and possibly critique felt…well, nightmarish. In all honesty, I’d often stray away from sections like Off-Topic, where I believed light would be cast on my overused parentheses and cliché theses. So, when challenged by my previous EICs to start branching out towards sections like Off-Topic and Op-Ed, admittedly, my heart sank. I remember spending four hours in front of my Chromebook that day, a blank Google Doc burning through my eyes. I knew it was time for an intervention; ergo, I called my mom. In Hindi, she questioned me: “But what is it that you’re so afraid of?” Truly, how do moms make everything so easy? I started typing, and I remember my hands refusing to lift off the computer until 2 AM. I’d clearly written way too much for an outline, and yes, I’d also missed the 11:59 PM deadline (which I’m still grateful I wasn’t caught for). What surprised me was what would come later—an influx of comments from upperclassmen. Copy editors, my section editor, and the EICs (virtually) chimed in with their usual commentary-galore. But this time, it was different. Rather than taking note of my sentence structure or conclusive statements, I was receiving feedback on my writer's voice. For the first time at The Spectrum, I’d opened up. I managed to bare my soul and open my heart to the readers on the other side, and it had worked. My writing was lined with nuance and sparked with originality. And as I stepped into the role of editor-in-chief, my journey with my writer's identity continued. I learned when it was important to be gutsy, withholding nothing from the reader's eye. “I need to rewrite this article. There’s just no nuance!” Or, I’d learn when it was okay to apply control, keeping information logical yet unwavering. “Hmm, let’s keep this second-person format but change the narrator.” It was these teeny, tiny decisions that I’d make to ensure voice took precedence over all else (mostly). So, now I pass this advice onto you, fellow reader. Just for one second, think about why you write and what you (yes, you!) really want to say. And, if you’re still hitting a dead end, ask yourself what you’re so afraid of. Another person's opinion? Pfft. Your own craft? You’re overthinking it. At the end of the day, being vulnerable and putting your thoughts in print will make you a better thinker and writer. Perhaps a writer’s style is what makes every article a reflection of its author, and that’s the beauty of writing. But being vulnerable and sharing this voice with your reader is a choice for none other than you. So, take a chance. If all else fails, call up someone you trust and hear their support, and then go on and release your voice! In the present day, I sit here, in front of the very same Chromebook, as a senior. Yet, the surroundings are all different: my desk, my clothes, my face. And, my writing. Now, I find comfort in Off-Topic and Op-Ed, relishing storyboarding from scratch, sprinkling language into inventive stories, and pirouetting with theatrical words. Though I previously shuddered at the thought of working on an opinion-based piece, I’ve now learned to take pride in my craft. With nuance, I can commit to exploring the depths of my own writing. And I have faith that you too will pick up a pen and choose to share your ideas with the world. Perhaps you’ll also find yourself in a conundrum between vulnerability and purpose. And to that I’ll say: find your voice. Go find who you are, you reader you. |