As part of the release of 13 to Life: A Werewolf's Tale, the author Shannon Delaney is having a monster contest!  She's invited readers to be as creative as possible--through art, music, writing or whatever other way you want to express yourself.  The inspiration? 13 to Life naturally!

Find out more about this contest (including the 11 books you could win!) by heading over to Shannon's blog here!

My first essay about 'A Change in My Life' can be found .
My second essay "What's in a Name?" can be found .
My Teen Friendly Recipe 'Mighty Fine Stew' can be found .
My 13 to Life Soundtrack can be found .

Without further ado...my topic today is a teacher who inspired me.

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In High School I didn't care much for my teachers.  I had a few I really liked, but by in large I wanted the vast majority of them to just fall off the face of the earth. One in particular though, seemed to 'get' me.  To make me want to do better.

Mr. Bunce, my 9th grade Creative Writing teachers, and 11th grade English teacher

He didn't let anyone just passively accept things.  He had a very British way about him; his humor, the way he talked and acted.  He'd snark at stupid things you'd say with no real care for if it hurt your feelings, he wouldn't coddle you.  The first day of English 11 he told the class that he was cool with whoever didn't read the summer project (And Then There Were None) and watched the movie (whatever version) instead.  The Test had only one question on it "How did the novel end?" Now those who watched the movie had one answer and those who read the book had another--the two didn't end the same at all.  Two people got the test correct--myself and one other kid.  Everyone else failed.

When people complained he told them he gave them the option of either doing the assignment or being lazy.  It wasn't his fault everyone was lazy was it?

He also posted everyone's grades in full view of the class every week.  He encouraged us to 'compete' for the top grade.  I know this sounds horrible, but it worked.  He was the first teacher to get me to actually care about studying.  I worked hard to get my grade in his classes.  Worked hard to be able to lord it over others (especially a certain Irishly named kid who I also managed to hurt quite often in gym class).  I would come home proudly and report every snarky comment he made as if he was the President commenting on my bravery.  He only every snarked about the students he thought showed the most promise.

I knew kids who would celebrate the first time he said something to them.  I know I did.  He made me want to strive harder for things, work harder to be different in my writing.  He made me never feel content to view things from one angle.  "The weirder your perspective the more interesting you are." he used to say--and I have some mighty weird angles.  He didn't let me be conventional and for that he has my eternal gratitude.