E M I L Y  K A P L A N

WRriter's Evolution Essay

“The Farther Backward You Look,

The Farther Forward You Will See”

—Agent Gideon

2008

I returned home from school at 3:45PM. After greeting my dog (a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Chelsea), I sprinted upstairs to the living room and turned the TV on to DVR. I scrolled until I hit my favorite show, and selected one of the 68 episodes I had recorded to watch that day. I was obsessed with the USA series, Criminal Minds. Set primarily at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, Criminal Minds tells the story of six agents working for the Behavior Analysis Unit (BAU) who make their living catching serial killers. The show fascinated me—the intelligence of the BAU agents, the serial killers’ ability to consistently evade those agents, the way the good guys always won at the hour’s end (incredibly realistic, I know).

I wanted to be one of those agents; I wanted to outsmart serial killers. I realized, however, that Criminal Minds was just a television show, and thus presumably glorified the lives of FBI employees and the ease with which they often “won.” If I wanted to pursue a career as an agent, I would need to learn more than what Agent Hotchner taught me over three seasons. Unfortunately, as a 14-year old girl whose other hobbies included dancing, shopping, and gossiping, I had no idea how to commence learning about serial killers.

2012

Fortunately, in my senior year of high school, I had a teacher who encouraged this idiosyncratic interest of mine. Our class had spent about a week discussing human nature in relation to violence and toward the end of that week I mentioned my curiosity about serial killers. To which, my teacher responded that I should write about them—what makes a killer that of the serial nature, what do they tell us about human nature? Though I didn’t know it at the time, this was a big moment in my evolution as a writer; it was my first experience writing about something that interested me. I wasn’t writing about some book a teacher assigned or about the Yoruba people in Africa (my first essay assignment as a high school student), I could finally write on a topic I actually wanted to engage with, to learn more about. I’ve included an excerpt from that paper below (please excuse the fact that it is not particularly well-written): 

“Whether organized or disorganized, more often than not both types of serial killers have a chemical imbalance in their brains. Serotonin, the neurotransmitter connected to happiness, reduces aggression.  Most serial killers have a deficiency of serotonin, consequently increasing aggression. This increase of aggression causes an increase of testosterone, which has its own negative effect. Along with a shortage of serotonin, a surplus of testosterone also increases aggression, essentially creating a vicious cycle of anger. Another common characteristic shared by serial killers is a painfully abusive childhood. The modeling theory states that humans learn aggression by observing others who behave in an aggressive manner, as many parents of future serial killers did.”

—Emily Kaplan, “No Human in Humane” (2012)

I’m not entirely sure why I prefaced abusive childhood with painfully, as if abusive childhoods exist that aren’t painful, but I digress. The length requirement for this assignment was a page and it required no outside research. I wrote three pages, and apparently completed outside research (though I didn’t site any of the above information about serotonin or the modeling theory, so I’m not quite sure where that research came from). Now that I’m writing 30 page papers—currently working on one for my Organizational Studies class—three sounds like nothing, a few hours max. But not in high school. I was so proud of myself; I only had to write a page and instead I chose to write three! Not for extra points or favoritism, but because I actually cared. Dare I say, I was passionate about what I was writing about. Well maybe not yet, the passion didn’t really come until the following year. 

Winter 2013

I took English 225 in the winter of my freshman year. I was not dying to take the class; in the spirit of full disclosure, I only took it because I had the same teacher for English 125— where I managed an A without overworking myself—and couldn’t get in to any other “easy” three credit class. “Easy,” I thought, because it was English and English had always come easily to me (In other words, I received A grades in high school English). In 125, I wrote narrative essays and essays analyzing books, neither of which were novel genres. Ergo, I approached English 225 with my nose toward the sky.

It was early in the semester when my teacher explained our final assignment for the class. We would complete a 15-page research paper on a topic of our choosing, and spend the semester working on shorter essays that would help us organize our thoughts. My classmates and I had to submit a project proposal for the final paper toward the end of January; the first half of mine sounded like this:

“For my final research paper, I’m deciding between two broad topics: media’s affect on body image and certain subject matters revolving around criminal justice… In terms of criminal justice, I have a few different routes of research I can take. I have always been interested in the death penalty and, bluntly put, why it still exists, but have never done any formal research to learn about it. If I decide to research this for my paper I will focus on the fact that murdering murderers does not stop crime. That said, I feel the death penalty can be a very controversial topic, so I may try and select another subject.”

— Emily Kaplan, “English 225 Project Proposal” (2013)

I emailed my teacher immediately after submitting the proposal, expressing my apprehension about picking one topic over the other. Cognizant of how anxious I tend to get when making a decision that could influence my semester (and my grade), my teacher replied,

“I know that you have a longstanding interest in the death penalty, so honestly, my instinct is to encourage you to find some aspect of the death penalty to research.”  

—Nicolette Bruner (2013)

I am so happy she did. I took her advice and spent the rest of the semester researching the death penalty. I spent my boring, 300-person freshman lectures (i.e. Earth 114) scrolling through the Death Penalty Information Center’s website, absorbing all of the information my brain could hold (I’d estimate that I read 20 webpages a day) about issues surrounding capital punishment.

For the first time, English was hard for me. Not because I struggled to compose arguments or write a lengthy paper, but because I decided to commit a part of myself to my writing. I wrote on a subject I cared about deeply, and I wanted my readers to care in the same way—to do that, or rather, to do that well, requires commitment. I went into the class thinking I would succeed without having to spend my entire Sunday in the library, without having to do copious amounts of work over Spring break. Instead, I spent all day Sunday, essentially every Sunday of the semester, hunched over my computer screen in the unnecessarily dark reference room. I spent the flights to and from my spring break trip in Cabo, and some sleepless nights, typing up outlines and and digesting research—while my friends digested tequila. This class took time and energy; I cried over paragraphs and frantically emailed my teacher almost daily, but I rediscovered an indispensable desire that I had not felt since I wrote about serial killers in high school: my fondness of writing when I care about the subject. While I would love to display my entire paper here, I will not bore you with fifteen pages. Instead, I’ve highlighted an excerpt where I conclude a section about the (monetary) cost of capital punishment:

“In some states, these enormous costs have served as a major catalyst to abolishing capital punishment (Dieter 8). Before revoking the death penalty in 2007, both New York and New Jersey were spending ample sums of money to maintain a dormant death penalty. Over nine years, New York spent around 170 million dollars and over 25 years New Jersey spent around 253 million dollars; in both states, there was not one execution in those time periods (Dieter 14). Spending such an extravagant amount of money would logically imply that the executions are worth it. But according to a national police chief poll, the death penalty does not have enough of an impact to account for the money it requires. In the poll, police chiefs deemed the death penalty the most inefficient use of taxpayers’ money, and that the funds currently used for capital punishment should instead go toward training more officers and creating drug and alcohol programs for troubled youth (Dieter 9).”

—Emily Kaplan, “The Death of Capital Punishment” (2013)

Rereading my proposal for the final paper and comparing it to the actual paper, it’s hard to believe there exists a time where I didn’t know any facts about capital punishment. In the last three years, I have written over 30 pages, read over 50 articles, and created a two-minute video about the death penalty.  The more I wrote the more I learned, and the more I learned the more my interest grew. Writing did that for me. Writing served as the catalyst to my—though hesitantly, I will now insert this word I often overuse— passion for learning about capital punishment.

Before I continue, I feel it necessary to digress about my use of the word “passion.” My friends tease me, my parents roll their eyes, I even mock myself a bit each time I describe myself as feeling passionate about something. I’m passionate about the TV show Friends, about the Chicago Blackhawks, about accompanying every movie I watch with popcorn—I’m passionate about so many different things its as if I’ve forgotten what the word passion means. And so, seeing as I use “passionate” to describe my affection for popcorn, I will not use it for the remainder of this paper; I will not dilute the fact that writing has introduced me to a topic I plan to spend the rest of my life learning more about.

Fall 2014

I did not make this realization—that writing has the ability to make me care about a subject—in my freshman year at Michigan. Or my sophomore year, for that matter. And while I did not quite make the connection junior year, I did come closer, when I was miraculously accepted to the Minor in Writing. Right away, I felt a disconnect with my peers. They all loved writing. They wrote for the school newspaper and had goals to be novelists or journalists or columnists. They wrote to relieve stress and to “feel sane,” as one fellow minor put it—but not me. Entering into the Gateway course for the minor, I didn’t know why I wrote. Because I’m good at it? Because I’m a writing tutor and I need to remain good at it to be effective at my job? Because I am in the job application process, sending emails to potential employers every day and they need to make me sound smart? I honestly had no idea. It did not take long before the minor forced me to face that dreaded question head on: Why do I write?

To say I struggled with this essay, the “Why I Write” essay, would be a gross understatement; I almost dropped the minor to avoid writing it. But, after a conversation with my mom—who urged me to stay in the minor for my future’s sake (as a hopeful law student to-be), some self-reflection, and a decent amount of dark nights spent in the ref room, I came to this conclusion:

“Really thinking through why I write has helped me understand that I can love writing— or what writing will help me accomplish in my life—without being seduced by the actual writing process…I write because I want to be a lawyer and in order to be an exceptional lawyer, I need to be an exceptional writer.”

—Emily Kaplan, “Grandpa Knows Best” (2014)

Upon completion of the Gateway course, I allowed my answer to go viral. I told it to myself and my teacher, my classmates, my friends, and anyone brave enough to read my Gateway Portfolio. I write because I need to— because it will help me succeed.

As I rummaged through the folders on my computer in the hopes of finding my “Why I Write” essay to include in this paper, I stumbled across something else: my application to the Minor in Writing. When I reached the final page, relatively pleased with the content thus far, I started to smile and shake my head (as I often do when I finally understand something I’ve been struggling to grasp)— it was right in front of me. In the letter, I had written what I spent all of the Winter 2013 semester trying to figure out; subconsciously, I already knew why I write:

“As much as my time at Sweetland has driven me to pursue the minor in writing, the minor itself may be a catalyst to achieving my goal for the future: a life in the courtroom.”

—Emily Kaplan, Minor in Writing Application Letter (2014)

“The minor itself may be a catalyst to achieving my goal for the future”; writing may be a catalyst to achieving my goal. In the application, I wrote may. But through writing, I’ve discovered that it would be a catalyst. My letter continued,

“Although I can’t say with absolute confidence that I’ll be a lawyer some day—I’ll probably change my mind about a career path ten more times before graduation—I can say that no matter which field I end up in, being a strong writer will help me thrive.”

— Emily Kaplan, Minor in Writing Application Letter (2014)

2016—Today

I am happy to say that I did not change my mind ten times, or even once. I still plan on going off to law school and hopefully, becoming a lawyer. Writing has helped me figure all of this out. I’ve received the opportunity to write about Supreme Court cases in my Philosophy classes, about mergers and acquisitions in my Organizational Studies classes, and about capital punishment in any class that lets me. Like I’ve said, writing, for me, breeds knowledge—knowledge that perpetuates passion (I couldn’t resist, the word was calling my name).

Today I am furthering my devotion to learning about the topic as I work on my Capstone Project for the Minor in Writing. When assigning the project, our professor emphasized that we should attempt to choose a topic that would hold our attention for the semester. While my classmates seemed to struggle with subject selection, I had already moved on to the next step; my mind began to wander as I considered how I would execute my final project on the topic that would never cease to hold my attention: capital punishment.

Initially, I planned to interview individuals on campus who have worked directly with the death penalty and use those interviews in a narrative, of sorts. While I completed the interviews, I’ve decided against using them in my portfolio. I realized that though they are interesting to me, I want a general audience—the people who I hope will view my portfolio—to learn the facts about capital punishment, not opinions. That said, one of my interviewees, Professor Samuel Gross, said something to me during our conversation that I want to share:

“I think the death penalty will go out of existence within your life time… 15-20 years, yeah that makes a lot of sense. And the likely way it would happen in the US is in a decision by the US supreme court… Will the supreme court do it? I think so. Am I right on that who knows? Something could happen, we could start a war with Mexico. If Trump gets elected, we probably will start a war with Mexico…”

– Professor Samuel Gross (2016)

I want Professor Gross to be right, regardless of our next president. Maybe I’ll be that lawyer arguing in front of the Supreme Court, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be an activist that leads protests to abolish capital punishment, or maybe even an FBI agent— catching the criminals who would be put to death. At the most superficial level, writing will help me get my foot in the door for any of these future scenarios—I’ve been told the fact I’m a writing tutor in the writing minor looks good on a resume, and I can write a pretty good cover letter. At a deeper, more personal level, writing has helped me explore and communicate what evokes curiosity within me. I learn, through my writing, what moves me—both in topic (i.e. capital punishment) and in the way I convey that topic (i.e. narrative versus research paper). So, regardless of what my future holds, I know that by divulging what I care about, writing will have helped me get there.