I kept rereading the letter as if it would magically change the contents. I received a letter from Mary, his wife, saying "My husband of 62 years, Bill Lavender, died on October 17, 2011, of internal bleeding of an unknown cause which deprived his heart of oxygen. He would have been 90 in December. He always enjoyed your letters” (Lavender, November 13 2011).

As I read those words, tears filled my eyes as I tried to keep my composure since I was still at work. It was only a few weeks ago I walked a few blocks down the road from the barracks to send a letter to my writing mentor, having no idea of the tragedy that happened. Swallowing hard, I put the letter in my blue camouflage uniform, and attempted to get back to my work. Easily distracted, I kept thinking about the letter, and my stomach ached harder and harder. I needed to cry, but crying in front of my Navy Chain of Command was not an option.

Thinking about him dying made me want to write him to tell him what happened, but I could not anymore. I could not believe that my penpal of a little over six years was gone. I wanted to meet him one day, but that would no longer happen.

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Five years before, I walked through the door of the school library inside Beaufort Middle School looking for a new book to read. On a long bookshelf near the checkout desk, the title Just Jane caught my eye. On the cover, a young girl’s face, with a scene from the American Revolutionary War, and Just Jane written in bright red. I had never read a historical fiction novel all the way through, but I decided to give it a try.

Just Jane by William Lavender had me hooked from the first sentence. “Jane Prentice awoke with a start in the cramped, airless cabin that has been her world for forty-six days and nights" (Lavender 1). The more I read, the more I wanted to read. Before I knew it, I was at the end of the book. Amazed by my ability to read completely through the book, I had to do something. I wanted to write Mr. Lavender and thank him for writing a historical fiction novel I was able to read all the way through.

Picking up the pen from my backpack to write to him and finding a sheet of lined college-ruled notebook paper, I was nervous about what to say, afraid I would sound stupid. The feeling of nervousness made me feel like butterflies were in my stomach as I asked him, “When they make Just Jane into a movie, can I play Jane?" I was embarrassed that I even asked him that question, but since I love to act, I wanted to know. I had also asked him about any other books he may have written. As a seventh grader, not only was I into reading and writing, but I enjoyed drama and acting. I had improv class for seventh period on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I hoped I would hear back from him, but I doubted I would. I had no reason to believe I would receive a letter from a published author.

According to the National Bullying Prevention Center, more than one out of five students report being bullied” in 2016. 64% of children who were bullied did not report it; only 36% reported the bullying. I tried reporting bullying only once but was quickly shot down by my third-grade teacher.

Right after lunch, we would go to our math class. I could still smell the cheese pizza I had for lunch that day. I could see the seat where I was assigned: the second row of beige rectangular tables - mine was the seat to the right if you were looking at it, two dark green plastic chairs placed at each table. Before I realized it, the class was almost done for the day, but we were told we had to finish the last five problems on the board before leaving the class. I felt someone touch my back, then a stiff kick before whoever it was left the room. I tried not to worry about it; maybe they accidentally kicked me I thought.

It happened again, and again. I looked around, and I realized they were all doing it on purpose. I saw my classmates go out of their way to pass by my seat to kick me. I raised my hand, but the teacher didn't see. I tried to focus on my math - that was the key to getting away from the torture - but the kicks kept distracting me. I finally finished and went up to the teacher to tell her what happened. I stood there watching the words come out of her mouth as she said that I was trying to attract attention to myself. Why would a third grader voluntarily put a Kick Me sign on their own back and insist that everyone in the class kick them? I thought. After being shot down, I did not see what the point was for trying to report the bullying to anyone.

According to bullying statistics, many signs link bullying to depression, some of which include - but are not limited to - long-lasting sadness or irritability, unexplained outbursts of crying or anger, withdrawal from others, always feeling tired or slow, and aches and pains with no obvious physical cause. For as long as I can remember, I have had the unexplained outbursts of crying, and am often viewed as overemotional. Now those unexplained outbursts may very well be linked to being bullied.

Checking the mail one summer day, I got a big surprise. Inside the mailbox was a letter from William Lavender. Feeling very excited, I ran inside my house, practically threw the rest of the mail to my mom, then opened my letter carefully. The letter was typed and very formal. Goosebumps covered my arms as I read the letter dated June 9, 2005. “Believe me I would like nothing better than to say to you, ‘Of course, Andrea, you may play Jane in the movie version, you sound like the perfect person for it.’ Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.The decision is not mine to make. Such decisions are made by people in that far off land of make believe called Hollywood, and unless you live in that world, which I don’t, it is very had to attract their attention." It made me very happy, to read “Once again, thanks for writing, and please let us hear from you again.”

Despite the bullying, having a mentor distracted me from the hatred of my fellow classmates that surrounded me. I was always bothered by being bullied until William Lavender wrote to me. Suddenly the bullying did not seem to bother me, and eventually, it stopped. My self-esteem grew, and I felt confident in the person I was. After all, if I am not happy with myself, how do I expect others to be.

Having a writing mentor is life changing. According to Leigh Shulman, author of “5 Reasons You Need a Writing Mentor - And How to Find One,” there are five great reasons to have a writing mentor.The five reasons are inspiration, honest feedback, professional development, accountability, and emotional support. I firmly believe in these because after getting to know William Lavender, I found my confidence begin to rise. I finally felt like what I had to say mattered, and I felt like I could ask him questions about the writing process without hesitation, such as “how many drafts did Just Jane go through?” and “what are you working on now?” I often hated being told you should find a realistic job, that being a writer is a dead end. I knew you had to have passion and the guts to try.

“Your willingness to sit down and voluntarily write something at all is rare, even in adults,” William Lavender wrote to me eleven years ago, “But your understanding of the value of writing as a tool not only to express yourself but to help you explore your own mind and feelings, is truly extraordinary. The important thing is that you have the essential ingredients of a good writer - intelligence, feelings, and imagination. Those things cannot be taught, but fortunately, you have them, so use them to your utmost.”

In eighth grade, I wrote in all my free time. I found joy in writing, and I worked really hard to improve my writing. Writing a range of pieces which included an advice book I titled Days, poetry, and fictional short stories. When writing Days, I would ask my fellow peers things they would want advice about. It was then I realized the bullying did not get to me anymore. From the lack of reaction, the bullying lessened, and I really enjoyed writing something everyone could potentially benefit from.

It did not matter what I wrote if I was writing something. I wrote pieces of poetry and a nonfiction piece about my stepfather dying and my parents divorcing. My fictional short stories mainly included abuse and the protagonist rising against it. Abuse is something I felt needed more awareness. Like any writer, I hoped my writings would have an impact on my reader’s life, much so like William Lavender’s work did for me. I would get my teachers to read my work and loved hearing what they had to say about it. Hearing from a published author that I had what it takes to make it as a writer, I wanted to do anything I could to accomplish that. I saw my goal, and I went for it. Writing is something that always made me feel better, no matter what was going on when I was growing up.

In the last letter I got from him, he wrote: “Since we’ve never met, you may not realize that I’m more than old enough to be your grandfather. Everyone in my family is astonished that, in a time when letter writing has virtually vanished from the earth, our correspondence still continues. I too am astonished, but at the same time, pleased and proud" (Lavender June 5, 2011). I had always felt like he was family, but to read that from his letter let me know he felt the same way.

I plan to mentor any of my readers if they were to reach out to me. I feel it is important to have a mentor, and my mentor experience was one I will never forget. I would love nothing more than to impact another writer’s life. I grew from being filled with low self-esteem to someone who blossomed into a confident writer who felt like I had a purpose. Writing was my purpose, and William Lavender helped guide the way to that realization. Having a writing mentor is something that is not common, but it is a very rewarding experience. Letting others know about the amazing experience may allow more readers to write to the authors who inspire them and they could possibly grow more confident in their writings. A world of confident writers can impact so many lives.