Gayatri's Stage 3,4 & 5: Draft 1 to Final Draft

Reshaping Draft 1 by Gayatri

Step 1A: My First Impressions

Things I Like about My Essay (Step 1A)

I like my introductory anecdote
“I would glower at the more popular girls from across the playground…”
I love the word glower here
"slashing angry diary entries”
Slashing sounds really nice in context
I really like the anecdote of my mentor walking across the field. The imagery is really striking
I like the juxtaposition of the youtube makeup tutorials with my more intellectual interests

Things I’m Not Sure About (Step 1A)

Would like to elaborate on the Fem Lit Club experience (was very powerful and I didn’t convey that well).
Transition between me in elementary school (with internalized misogyny) to me growing in middle and high school should be smoother.
Make the listing of achievements in the 8th paragraph flow better (or remove it entirely).

Step 2: Showing and Telling Highlight

Highlighted essay:

It was my turn to pick out a notebook. There was a pile of them stacked on the floor, colors spread out over the matted blue carpet of my second grade classroom. The boy sitting next to me nudged me with his elbow. “I bet you’re gonna pick a pink one.” It was obvious to my second grade self why he thought so. Pink was a girl color and I was a girl.

I picked a yellow notebook.

I was seven years old and I thought there was nothing worse than being a girl.

My lack of femininity was a source of great pride to me as a child. I would cut my hair short and refuse to wear anything I labeled as remotely “girly.” I sat with the boys at lunch. I only had male friends. I wasn’t like the other girls. When my father brought me a barbie, I proceeded to cut off all of her hair and wrap her completely in tape, expunging any semblance of femininity from her plastic form.

But underneed this veneer, I was deeply resentful. I would glower at the more popular girls from across the playground, slashing angry diary entries into the fresh paper of notebooks under the cover of darkness. I envied the way they dressed. The way they spoke without fear of judgement. I had completely bought into the idea that femininity was weakness. I was better than them because I had scrubbed myself clean of my own femininity. And yet, as I watched them I felt myself longing to be like them.

As I grew older, this slowly began to change. I joined the Girls Who Code club at my middle school, which allowed me to express myself without having to posture for boys who might think less of me for it. The faculty advisor for the club became a valuable female mentor to me.

And then one day, as I was walking through the school soccer field with her, I saw her take off her high heels to walk comfortably across the field, soggy with rain from the night before. I was all at once struck with the juxtaposition of this strong woman I knew who wore dresses and high heels walking barefoot across a grassy field. Up until that point, I had never considered that I could be both myself and feminine at the same time. But here was someone I looked up to and valued doing both effortlessly.

I myself began to mentor the girls in the club in 8th grade, which was also when I was nominated for the World Speaker Summit. Through all of this, I began to feel more empowered and comfortable with myself and my own identity as both myself and as a girl. In my first year of high school, I joined the Feminist Literature club during which I read and discovered some of my favorite books such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Middlesex both of which helped me tackle my own thoughts about my identity as a cisgender female and the notion of gender norms that had pervaded my life up until the year before.

Now, I am just beginning to understand what it means to be a young woman. Watching a makeup tutorial on YouTube can be just as satisfying as watching a video essay critiquing the world building of YA novels. Not only did I find that these two spheres of interest were allowed to coexist, but they were welcoming to all types of people. It was to my own surprise and delight that I discovered the diversity of this subculture, allowing and embracing everything from gender fluidity to trans identities. There have even been intersections of these two groups, such as the YouTube series “Bad Movies And a Beat,” which pairs movie criticism and analysis with the more typical makeup tutorial.

Now I look back at myself, small and self-conscious in my second grade classroom, a reluctant defacer of Barbies, and I am proud of how far I’ve come.

Step 3: What’s Missing?

Does your narrative have a logical arc? Look at your essay and identify the beginning, middle, and end of the story you’re telling. Does it feel like any of these basic parts is either underdeveloped (not enough detail or missing completely) or overdeveloped (way too much detail)? Which parts need more detail and development, and which parts need less?

My narrative has a logical arc, but it seems like the middle portion might need a bit more work. I was “telling” a lot in that section and I think it might help if I included some anecdotes or imagery there.
Does the order of events make sense to the reader? Should you provide more reflection early on? Does the essay jump too quickly into reflection? How would switching order change how the essay reads (for example, if you started with the end and went backwards)?

I think the order of events is okay (since it’s mainly chronological). Starting with the end might be more confusing since a lot of the essay relies on my change as I grew older. I think I’ve got a good amount of reflection in the beginning and end (the middle may have too much).
Are there any parts of your narrative that don’t make sense because the reader doesn’t have the right contextual information? (For example, a reference to a place, person, event, etc. that isn’t explained)

I think I did a good job with this (though I could elaborate on what the Girls Who Code and Fem Lit clubs were).
Are your reflections logical, given the narrative? Does it make sense that you would have gotten these insights from the events you describe, or is the connection between narrative + reflection not strong enough yet?

I think the transitions there are fairly smooth. I think doing a revision of the other issues in the essay will probably smooth the transitions out further.

Step 4: A Plan for Revision

Draft 2 by Gayatri

It was my turn to pick a notebook. A pile of them were stacked in front of me, the brightly colored covers overlapping on the matted blue carpet of my second-grade classroom. The boy sitting next to me nudged me. “I bet you’re gonna pick a pink one.” It was obvious why he thought so. Pink was a girl color, and I was a girl.

I picked a yellow notebook.

I was seven years old, and I thought there was nothing worse than being a girl.

My lack of femininity was a source of great pride for me as a child. I would cut my hair short and refuse to wear anything I labeled as remotely “girly.” I sat with the boys at lunch because I was friends with them. I wasn’t like the other girls.

But underneed this veneer, I was deeply resentful. When my father bought me a Barbie, I cut off all her hair and mummified her with tape, expunging any semblance of femininity from her plastic form. I would glower at the more popular girls from across the playground and pen bitter diary entries into cheap notebooks. I had completely bought into the idea that femininity was a weakness, and yet, I envied the way they dressed and spoke without fear of judgment. I told myself I was better than them because I had scrubbed myself clean of it. But as I watched them, I felt myself longing for their freedom.

As I grew older, I became more involved in the clubs at my middle school. I joined the Girls Who Code club, a club devoted to teaching young girls to code, which allowed me to express myself without having to posture for people who might think less of me. The faculty advisor for the club became a valuable mentor to me.

And then one day, as I was walking through the school soccer field with her, I saw her take off her high heels to walk comfortably across the field, soggy with rain from the night before. I was all at once struck with the juxtaposition of this strong woman, who wore dresses and high heels, walking barefoot across a grassy field. Up until that point, I had never considered that I could be both myself and feminine at the same time. But here was someone I looked up to doing both effortlessly.

It took me a while to come to terms with this realization. When I was selected as a student speaker at my school district’s World Speaker Summit, I chose to write my speech on some of the valuable female mentors I had, which made me reevaluate these biases again.

It was armed with this realization that I joined the Feminist Literature club in high school. During my time in the club, I read and discovered some of my favorite books such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Middlesex, both of which helped me tackle my thoughts about my identity as a cisgender female and the notion of gender norms that had pervaded my life up until then. It was there, amidst laughter and Oreo deconstruction, that I learned what it meant to read something that could change your entire perspective on gender conventions.

Now, I am just beginning to understand what it means to be a young woman. A makeup tutorial on YouTube can be just as satisfying as a video essay critiquing the world-building in YA novels. Not only are these two spheres of interest allowed to coexist, but they are welcoming to all types of people. To my surprise and delight I have discovered the diversity of this internet microcosm, allowing and embracing everything from gender fluidity to trans identities.

Now I look back at myself: small, self-conscious, and determined to choose yellow, and I am proud of how far I’ve come.

Draft 3 by Gayatri

It’s my turn to pick a notebook. A pile of them are stacked in front of me, brightly colored against the matted blue carpet of my second-grade classroom. The boy next to me digs his elbow into my side. “I bet you’re gonna pick a pink one,” he says, disdain clear in his words. It’s obvious to me why he thinks so. Pink is a girl color and I am a girl.

I pick a yellow notebook.

I am seven years old and there is nothing worse than being a girl.

My lack of femininity was a source of great pride for me as a child. I’d cut my hair short and refuse to wear anything I thought was remotely “girly.” I sat with the boys at lunch. I wasn’t like the other girls.

But underneath this veneer, I was deeply resentful. When my father bought me a Barbie, I cut off all her hair with blunted child’s scissors and mumified her in clear tape, expunging and semblance of femininity from her smooth plastic form. I would glower at the more popular girls from across the playground and pen bitter diary entries into cheap notebooks. I’d completely bought into the idea that femininity was weakness, and yet, I envied them. I envied the way they dressed and spoke without fear of judgement. I told myself I was better than them. I was stronger because I’d scrubbled my skin clear of such weakness. But as I watched them, I longed for their freedom.

As I grew older, I became more involved in the clubs at my middle school. I joined the Girls Who Code club, a club devoted to teaching young girls to code, which allowed me to safely express myself without having to posture for people who I thought would think less of me. The faculty advisor of the club became a valuable mentor to me.

And then one day, as we were walking through the school soccer field together, I saw her taking off her high heels to walk comfortably across the field, soggy with rain from the night before. I was all at once struck with the juxtaposition of this strong woman, who wore dresses and high heels, walking barefoot across a field of mud. Up to that point, it had never fully hit me that I could be both myself and a woman at the same time. That there was space in the world for me to be both.

It was armed with this realization that I joined the Feminist Literature club in high school. During my time in the club, I read and discovered some of my favorite books, such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Middlesex, both of which helped me further tackle my thoughts about my identity as a woman and the notion of gender norms that had pervaded my life up until then. It was there, amidst laughter and weekly Oreo deconstruction, that I learned what it meant to read something that could change your entire worldview.

Now, I am only just beginning to understand what it means to be a young woman. A makeup tutorial on YouTube can be just as satisfying as a video essay critiquing the world-building in YA novels. Not only are these two spheres of interest allowed to coexist, but they are welcoming to all types of people. To my surprise and delight I have discovered the diversity of this internet microcosm, allowing and embracing everything from gender fluidity to trans identities.

Now I look back at my past self: small, self-conscious, and determined to choose yellow, and I am proud of myself. And I think she would be too.

Draft 4 by Gayatri

It’s my turn to pick a notebook. There’s a pile of them stacked in front of me, bright against the matted blue carpet of my second-grade classroom. The boy next to me digs his elbow into my side.

“I bet you’re gonna pick a pink one,” he says in a vicious whisper. It’s obvious to me why he thinks so. Pink is a girl color and I am a girl.

I pick a yellow notebook.

I am seven years old and to me, there is nothing worse than being a girl.

My lack of femininity was a source of great pride to me as a child. I’d cut my hair short and refuse to wear anything I thought was remotely “girly.” I was friends with the boys because I wasn’t like the other girls.

But underneath this veneer, I was deeply resentful. When my father bought me a Barbie, I cut off all her hair with blunted child’s scissors and mumified her in clear tape, expunging any semblance of femininity from her smooth plastic body. I’d glower at the popular girls from across the playground and pen bitter diary entries on cheap paper. I’d completely bought into the idea that femininity was weakness.

And yet, I envied them. I envied the way they dressed and spoke without fear of judgement. I told myself I was better than them, but I never truly believed it. Despite scrubbing my skin clear of my femininity, despite convincing myself I was stronger, I longed for the freedom they had.

As I grew older, I became more involved in the clubs at my middle school and this perspective began to shift. I joined the Girls Who Code club, a club devoted to teaching young girls to code, which allowed me to safely express myself without having to posture for people I thought would think less of me. The faculty advisor of the club became a valuable mentor to me.

And then one day, as we were walking through the school soccer field together, I saw her take off her high heels to walk comfortably across the grass, soggy with rain from the night before. I was all at once struck with the juxtaposition of this strong woman, who wore dresses and high heels, walking barefoot across a field of mud. Up to that point, it had never fully hit me that I could be both myself and a woman at the same time. That there was space in the world for me to be both.

It was armed with this realization that I joined the Feminist Literature club in high school. During my time in the club, I read and discovered some of my favorite books, such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Middlesex, both of which helped me further tackle my thoughts about my identity as a woman and the notion of gender norms that had pervaded my life up until then. It was there, amidst laughter and weekly Oreo deconstruction, that I learned what it meant to read something that could change your entire worldview.

Now, I am only just beginning to understand what it means to be a young woman. A makeup tutorial on YouTube can be just as satisfying as a video essay critiquing the world-building in YA novels. Not only are these two spheres of interest allowed to coexist, but they are welcoming to all types of people. To my surprise and delight I have discovered the diversity of this internet microcosm, allowing and embracing everything from gender fluidity to trans identities.

Now I look back at my past self: small, self-conscious, and determined to choose yellow, and I am proud of myself. And I think she would be too.

Final Draft by Gayatri

It was my turn to pick a notebook. There were a pile of them stacked in front of me, bright against the matted blue carpet of my second-grade classroom. The boy next to me dug his elbow into my side.

“I bet you’re gonna pick a pink one,” he said in a vicious whisper. It was obvious to me why he thought so. Pink was a girl color and I was a girl.

I picked a yellow notebook.

I was seven years old and to me, there was nothing worse than being a girl.

My lack of femininity was a source of great pride to me as a child. I’d cut my hair short and refuse to wear anything I thought was remotely “girly.” I was friends with the boys because I wasn’t like the other girls.

But underneath this veneer, I was deeply resentful. When my father bought me a Barbie, I cut off all her hair with blunted child’s scissors and mummified her in clear tape, expunging any semblance of femininity from her smooth plastic body. I’d glower at the popular girls from across the playground and pen bitter diary entries on cheap paper. I’d completely bought into the idea that femininity was weakness.

And yet, I envied them. I envied the way they dressed and spoke without fear of judgement. I told myself I was better than them, but I never truly believed it. Despite scrubbing my skin clear of my femininity, despite convincing myself I was stronger, I longed for the freedom they had.

As I grew older, I became more involved in the clubs at my middle school and this perspective began to shift. I joined the Girls Who Code club, a club devoted to teaching young girls to code, which allowed me to safely express myself without having to posture for people I thought would think less of me. The faculty advisor of the club became a valuable mentor to me.

And then one day, as we were walking through the school soccer field together, I saw her take off her high heels to walk comfortably across the grass, soggy with rain from the night before. I was all at once struck with the juxtaposition of this strong woman, who wore dresses and high heels, walking barefoot across a field of mud. Up to that point, it had never fully hit me that I could be both myself and a woman at the same time. That there was space in the world for me to be both.

It was armed with this realization that I joined the Feminist Literature club in high school. During my time in the club, I read and discovered some of my favorite books, such as Their Eyes Were Watching God and Middlesex, both of which helped me further tackle my thoughts about my identity as a woman and the notion of gender norms that had pervaded my life up until then. It was there, amidst laughter and weekly Oreo deconstruction, that I finally found my voice.

Now, I am only just beginning to understand what it means to be a young woman. A makeup tutorial on YouTube can be just as satisfying as a video essay critiquing the world-building in YA novels. Not only are these two spheres of interest allowed to coexist, but they are welcoming to all types of people. To my surprise and delight I have discovered the diversity of this internet microcosm, allowing and embracing everything from gender fluidity to trans identities.

I look back at my past self: small, self-conscious, and determined to choose yellow, and I am proud.

I think she would be too.