A Short Story

We all have a choice when writing to not complete the task. But is it really going to kill us? We build up this wall and have all of these excuses because we are scared of failing. I believe it’s the end of the world when I’m writing. My palms become sweaty; I look for all types of excuses to procrastinate. After reading this article, I have learned that I’m not by alone. Feeling this way is normal and I can learn to be a better writer. I will take some of Anne’s suggestions and try to quiet the voices in my head. I will begin to write down my ideas as they pop into my head because no one will see all of my rough drafts. This will allow me to take the time to review my work with a clear

On the first day of class, having forgotten how to write over the blazing summer, I had high hopes I would gain some writing skill. Over the course of the last 10 weeks I learned not only that I am an extreme procrastinator, but that I had a lot to learn in the writing world. I learned many things about writing, including grammar, organization, and expression. Through late nights studying and practice in class, I can proudly say I'm a better writer than I was before.

I don’t know what to write. The thought keeps running through my mind haunting me as I try to figure out my english assignment. All I can think of is negative stories that are sure not going to be appropriate for school. At this point I start to wonder about my writing abilities and thoughts begin pouring in before I have a chance to stop them.

Revise: My feelings towards writing have always been negative. I find writing to be very tedious and chose not to write unless it is required. I’m definitely not much a writer so the process I use for writing is very simple. First I start off by making a brainstorm on a piece of scratch paper ,usually they start with one big bubble then branch out. Next I bring together all of my ideas to make a rough draft that I write out. The first draft for me is just to throw all of my ideas onto paper into actual sentences. Last I just take my draft and type it up, and just fix my mistakes as I type.

Writing has always been something I dread. It’s weird because I love talking and telling stories, but the moment I have to write it all down on paper, I become frantic. It’s almost as if a horse race just begun in my mind, with hundreds of horses, or words, running through my mind, unable to place them in chronological order. Because I struggle to form satisfying sentence structure, it takes me hours, sometimes even days, to write one paper. It’s not that I think I’m a “bad writer,” I just get discouraged easily. Needless to say, I don’t think highly of my writing skills. When I was little I loved to both read and write. I read just about any book I could get my hands on, and my journal was my go to for my daily adventures. Although it’s

It was a Friday, and I was in last period eagerly aching to go home for 2 days of absolute peace. All of a sudden, my heart started beating faster, faster, and faster. The room started to feel blistering hot and everything got darker. I was feeling agitated. Being a typical 17 year old, never able to take anything seriously, I decided to take a couple sips of water and carried on with the day, completely averting the issue.

"Yawn" Joe yawns while rolling his eyes. "This is fucking boring why are we doing this?" Joe whispers to Pete; Pete shrugs.

She blinked, slowly waking up. The faint breeze flowing through immediately shook her – the windows were always, without a fault, locked tight at night.

Pointing at Adam and Ben, “You both swore ‘She’s lying Pa. We didn’t put spiders on her.’

I walked through the familiar doorway of Microsoft on a brisk Thursday morning. I made my way to my office and sank into the new desk chair I had bought the day before. The rain pitter-pattering on the windows and the cool air made my morning much more relaxing than it usually would be thanks to some of my coworkers. Since I had my own office to myself after my promotion, I didn’t have to deal with all of their remarkably unintelligent comments. The morning seemed to fly by. Eventually the sun started to peek out of the stormy coulds, shining light on the water droplets still stuck on the window. This reminded me I should probably go get lunch sometime. Seeing as the sun was out, that meant it should be around 11:30 according to the

This story is going to be about a woman who tried her best at something that no one else in her family tried to do. To those who knew her, she was a stubborn woman who didn't like to determine her life based on what others wanted her to do. She led her own way through life, she had moments where she made mistakes but she learned and carried on in life. This is the story of a family woman from Ewa Beach who wanted to further her education for her family.

At some point in life we have all asked ourselves or have been asked what our reactions would be to endure a life altering tragedy. Some believe that they could never live through it and others naïvely think that life will continue is normal, taking for granted all the things in life a tragedy can take away from us. There are all kinds of tragedies in life, some people overcome them and some will give up, surrendering to the statistical fact that has been laid out for them. I personally know someone who beat his odds at life’s unexpected traumatic events, my husband Keith. Let me walk you through his remarkable story.

Then a quiet voice out of the darkness spoke. Quiet, yet confident. It was so sudden, so unexpected, even the demons surrounding them were taken aback. Zoey could tell because they had a look of surprise on their face. But it instantly faded and turned into a malicious grin.

Among other public buildings in a certain town this building was the one at the end of the gravel road and through the dark creepy forest where little dare to go down , which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning the screams you can hear from a half a mile away, or the blood stains all over the walls the shattered windows that make a faint whistle when the wind blows , and to which I will assign no fictitious name and the clown they call Pennywise this creature that rarely comes out of the shadows, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse ; and in this workhouse was born a devil child and the one who is in charge; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat,

Lincoln found a convenient wall to lean against for a few moments. He had to plan his next move. This was a typical process for a trained agent. He focussed on the main objectives he was sent there for in the first place. Find where this group is operating from. Find who runs it and where they were getting their weapon supplies from. Also how they were being funded. Once done, the AST and the other agencies can step in and eliminate them all. If his spy drone works and the local intel is correct, the first two objectives are almost met. So Lincoln’s current objective was to make sure his drone was working. Once that was confirmed, then get to the Government Headquarters where he first was met and contact the AST. The main problem with that