The SAT: Sweat, Anxiety, and Tears

I'm Anti-SAT, in case you haven't noticed.

 Yeah, I’m late posting. Don’t nag me―it’s only been a few days . Besides, I have big news:

This the first time in forever hat I have been totally SAT free.

That’s right, folks. Last weekend (not the one that just passed, but before that), I took that dreaded test for not the first, but the second time. It was the most boring, stressful, and exhausting four hours of my life, but somehow, I made it through (and had a Burrito Bowl at Chipotle to celebrate). I was sure that I had failed the math section in its entirety, and I still had to come home to mounds of homework directly afterwards, but overall, I was feeling pretty darn good.

That is, until I realized that they were changing the test.

*FURIOUS SCREAM*

Cue the tears. And the cursing. Oh, and definitely bring out the dart board, because I am mad as all-get-out right now. The ever so lovely College Board has decided to change the SAT to “level the playing field”.  They’re making the reading section easier, axing the whole writing section, making the essay optional, and partnering up with the Khan Academy to churn out free prep videos to help kids everywhere ace the exam. And don’t get me wrong―this is great for all the younger kids out there, who won’t have to take the SAT until 2016. But it doesn’t do me any good. At all. I’ll be out of high school in about a year, so all this announcement does for me is a fat load of absolutely nothing.

You see, I hate the SAT anyway. I don’t think that anybody likes it, except for colleges maybe, but I truly loathe it. Basing someone’s college acceptance  on a single test that they took in a half-stupefied state on a Saturday morning is the worst idea ever, because thing only thing that it proves is that  you’re awesome at taking standardized tests, and that’s probably because your parents spent a boatload of money on prep classes. It doesn’t reveal what kind of person you are, or your interests― all it shows it a number. I mean, come on ―1840, 2350, 1600―what the hell do those mean anyway? “Oh, I got a 2400 on the SAT, so that automatically makes me a genius. Please, feel free to bow down and worship my mad skills.” Um, NO! The whole thing is borderline ridiculous in my opinion, and to prove my point, I’m going to write a very passionate letter to the College Board, posted right here on this blog. Enjoy.

                Dear College Board, makers of the dreaded SAT Reasoning Test:

What were you thinking when you decided to use this piece of crap for college admissions, I’d love to know. Never mind that the exam has become the biggest cash cow for test prep companies across America, and that the key to acing it is simply a fat wallet and a great zip code.  Forget how it’s responsible for dashing the hopes and dreams of kids who receive lower scores, crushing their self-esteem into oblivion. What I really want to know is this: how can a test, that doesn’t really stand for anything, is incredibly hard to prepare for without extra help, and has been changed several times in the past, really be an accurate predictor of anything? It’s already been proven that the SAT doesn’t correlate with college success, and that there are discrepancies between GPA and the scores that students receive on the test, so why bother with it? Why do you insist on forcing kids to stress over it year after grueling year? You call yourself a “non-profit” organization, and yet, you find nothing wrong with the fact that you make millions of dollars a year by exploiting kids. The hypocrisy of your institution truly blows my mind.

And now, you’ve attempted to redeem yourself. You’re changing the test, making it easier for kids of all backgrounds to do well. And while it seems like an admirable deed, I say that it’s too little, too late. You should have changed it years ago, to “level out the playing field” then, for the other kids who may have been disadvantaged or simply less academically gifted. But no―you wait until the heat is on and colleges are breathing down your necks to take action. Newsflash: that doesn’t show leadership, or innovation. It shows cowardice. So here’s to you, College Board, for swindling money from teens and their parents for over eighty years now. I regret ever having to deal with you, and hope that my kids will never be subjected to your tests (And yes, I know that you also sponsor the AP exams, which may actually be useful, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll still dance on the day that your organization goes up in flames because the SAT has been rendered obsolete. In fact, I look forward to it.).

…Go to Hell.

          Sincerely,

           A pissed off High School Student


Oh, and here's a Playlist (you thought I forgot, didn't you?)

Playlist for March 18th, 2014:

1. Uprising- Muse
2. Gives You Hell- All American Rejects
3. Radioactive- Imagine Dragons
4. Forget You- Cee Lo Green
5. King of Anything- Sara Bareilles

I'll probably post again this week; I've been thinking about doing a book review for this awesome Dystopian YA novel that I just finished, so I might publish that. We'll see how it goes...

Why I'm Reluctant to Call Myself A "WRITER"

I think we’ve established the fact that I write; I do have a blog, after all, I’ve dabbled in fanfiction, and I’m currently working on what I hope will be a successful novel. The thing is though, I don’t tell people about my writing.

It’s ironic, considering the fact that I’m talking about this on the internet, where the whole world (or whoever reads this blog) can see it, but I feel really uncomfortable sharing my hobby with others. I don’t know if it’s common among writers or what, but every time someone asks me if I write, I immediately start blushing and stammering and trying to downplay whatever it is I’m composing at the moment.

It’s flipping weird and, to make matters worse, I know it doesn’t make any sense. I’m a writer―I should wear that title loud and proud, right?

Wrong. Here’s why:

Reason #1: The Prying. When you tell people that you “write”, they’ll ask to see what you’ve written and will keep nagging you about it until you show them a short story, or a scrap of poetry, or at least a measly blog post or two. Why? Because they need proof, Goddammit! They’re curious, and they want to judge you, to see if you’re really a writer or some deluded fool who can’t even write a decent shopping list, let alone a story. I made the mistake of mentioning my creative writing hobby in an essay for English, and my teacher went absolutely nuts. Sort of like this:

Teacher: Hey, I read your essay and I heard that you write! That’s great!

Me: *eyes with suspicion* Oh really?

Teacher: Yeah! Can you share your work sometime? I love to read that kind of stuff― you know, kid’s stories.

Me: I don’t know… (There’s no way in Hell.)

Teacher: But anything is fine! A story or a poem, anything that you want to share―

Me: (No, motherfrickin’ way. Not happening! Ever!) *smiles*…. I’ll think about it.

Biggest. Lie. Ever.

Reason #2: The Questions. Another annoying thing that happens when you tell people you’re a writer is the flood of questions you receive. When I casually mentioned my writing to kids at school one day, I was met by incredulous stares and skeptical smirks. “You write?” they asked. “About what?” And then I spent the next few moments stammering about urban fantasy and magic and other stuff that made me seem incredibly lame. They didn’t seem impressed, and I don’t blame them; that was a really embarrassing moment in my life. But then they started asking more questions, like “Don’t you know it’s really hard to get published?” and “Do you really write, or are you just messing around?” And I was so done.

My advice: Unless you want to play Jeopardy or Twenty Questions or something with your peers, do NOT mention your writing. Just don’t― trust me on this.

Reason #3: The Judging. Writers aren’t really respected in comparison to people who hold other occupations. If you don’t believe me, think of it this way: when you tell someone that you write fiction, you’re basically saying that you play make-believe and talk to the imaginary friends in your head for a living, like a slightly insane person. Now compare that with what a doctor does (saving lives). Ouch, right? No wonder people are going into the health and science fields― at least those sound good on paper! My parents are accepting of my writing aspirations, because they just want me to be happy, but my aunts are a different story. Unless I go to Harvard or Yale, or become an astronaut/doctor/lawyer, I’m pretty much a disappointment in their eyes. But is that a problem for me? No! They’ve already started grooming my nine-year old cousin to be the future president, so with an author and a politician, our family should be set. My aunts have got it all figured out, you see.

But the BIGGEST reason why I’m reluctant to call myself a writer is this: unless you have a book contract, money, or some or of acclaim, you’re just an amateur. A dabbler. An aspiring author, but not really an author. And that’s the difference between a WRITER and a writer― one is successful and one is not. Plain and simple. And until I’ve got some weight to carry with the title, I’m just going to hide the fact that I write from the world forever. I can’t go wrong with that plan now, can I?

Except… wait. I already wrote this blog post, so now everyone knows. And I already started a blog, where everyone can see my writing. Dammit. What the hell was I thinking? I should probably delete this whole thing in a desperate, last attempt to save face, but it’s written now. Might as well publish it.

Oh, and before I forget, here’s my playlist of the week (handpicked especially for you):

Playlist for March 7, 2014

1.        The Walker- Fitz and the Tantrums

2.        Ain’t It Fun- Paramore

3.        Hear Me- Imagine Dragons

4.        Afraid- The Neighborhood

5.        Some Nights- Fun.

So that’s it for now. I probably shouldn’t have spent time doing this, since I have to take the SAT tomorrow, but whatever. You only live once, right?

…Please don’t shoot me for saying that. At least it wasn’t YOLO (whoops, I said it).