By Meagan Barrett ’15

Maybe I’m the only one, but high school wasn’t what I would call “fun times.” It was the source of a lot of frustration, anxiety and disappointment, mostly because of the people. However, at the same time, that was the biggest learning experience of all for me, the most useful knowledge that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

I can say without a trace of doubt that the source of my disappointment was my own creation. Growing up naive and obsessed with books, I expected real people to act like the main characters I spent so much time reading about. Because why shouldn’t they? When the characters disappointed everyone, they decided to change. They were active growers, and they used that to achieve their goals.

But upon starting high school, I was abruptly made aware of the sad truth: real people aren’t like that. Most real people are the annoying secondary characters that make problems for the main character.

For that utterly crushing disillusionment, I’d like to thank my high school experience, and everyone reading this, but mostly those who aren’t reading this, because you have each taught me something about writing realistic characters, especially the people I haven’t exactly gotten along with. The most useful thing that I’ve learned throughout my English classes is that for characters to be likable, there has to be a part of them that no one really likes.

Every second longer that I spend writing, my appreciation for the individual increases. Every person I meet is a learning experience, a potential character with goals and flaws and personality quirks. So little do you all know it, but I’ll remember you. Whether or not you’ll remember me ten years from now, you’ve been profiled in my head as a personality that I can use. And at some point in our short lives, you’ll all show up in my novel. Some of you will be presidents or princes or best friends. Others will be janitors, and talking doormats named Luther, and whiney, snotty older sisters, with names like “Candace,” or “Gertrude.” I know, it hurts. Try not to cry about it.