An Example Of Narrative Essay About Bea

“I wish they’d slow down,” I whisper to myself slipping a white dress on with pink flowers. I search for the matching pink tights and check my watch. If I don’t hurry I’ll miss him. Walking out the door I am instantly saddened by the smell of the poluted air. I begin to day dream about a world where Montag, my uncle, everyone I hold dear, can sit on the porches, talking into the night. The street lights would break the dark abyss and egnite laughter and smiles. We would talk about the world and nonsensical things. . . HONK. I’ve barly managed to jump out of the way. Silly people, if only they would take the time to slow down, they’re missing the most beatiful things

“School made us ‘literate’ but did not teach us to read for pleasure.” -Ambeth R. Ocampo

At this point in my life I find myself in an interesting predicament regarding my attitudes toward reading and writing; more so towards reading. Years ago I used to love reading books for pleasure but nowadays I find myself reading things that little to no effort to digest. This includes the very basic posts on facebook expressing one’s opinion on something or articles and threads on reddit discussing topics I find intriguing. Perhaps it’s the severe senioritis that has overcome me as I enter my last semester at Chapman University. As I’ve gotten lazier I can see it start to reflect in my everyday life. Deep down I still love to read but I rarely find myself getting truly invested into the action unless it relates to something I am very

I never thought the day would come where I’d have to admit to myself I had an addiction. The hardest part was to except the fact I was an addict of painkillers and admitting it to my family so that I could get the help and support needed to get clean. The road leading to my addiction started with the factors of my childhood, always trying to fit in and not being supported emotionally from my parents. Having a child at the age of sixteen was the second factor, which made me grow up faster than a normal child at my age would have had to. Living the life of an addict was a struggle everyday but, getting help was the hardest part of it all. I’ll live with this disease for the rest of my life because recovery is a

Writing has always been my most difficult part of English. Reading, on the other hand, is something I could do all day; however, with writing, I grimace just thinking about it. It was not that I did not have anything to say, because I actually have quite a bit to say. I just could never figure out how to phrase what I had to say in just right way on the page. My mom taught me to read and write at a young age. After that, I would devour any book that I could get my hands on. However, I have had trouble with writing since it became more than just my alphabet and numbers.

I palpated the presumptuous malignant lump in my right upper abdominal area over, and over again. At the time I was ten years-old and thought that maybe I was delirious at one in the morning. The lump would not disappear. I palpated so often that the skin became tender with a single touch. I was terrified of a simple little lump in my body. A little lump that was capable of making an even larger impact on my life. It may seem rare that a ten year-old was constantly assessing their entire body for lumps, but it was a ritual for me every night before bed. At ten years-old I was fascinated with the quickly developing disease called cancer. Books and movies involving cancer fascinated me and was often my favorite to witness.

“You’re going to have so much fun!” He looked ecstatic, “Look on the bright side, you’ll make more friends now!”

It’s Friday, August 3rd we will start the voyage for the indies soon. I am on the biggest ship of them all. One of the other ships broke but we just headed on. Gutierrez is a very mean captain. We saw a meteor crash in the ocean some of the other men were scared like little girls but I thought that it was cool. We traveled for a long time with no land in sight. There were also volcanoes and thought it was awesome. I am grateful that I got to come with.

As I am trying to beat the clock, seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours, and nonetheless did I knew, it was already eleven post meridiem. My eyes are desperately yearning for sleep, but my brain is forcing myself to continue, because it knows there is more books assignments and quizzes for AP Psychology, AP Art History, AP Chemistry, AP Calculus, AP Language and Composition, and Academic Decathlon just waiting on my desk. Desperately typing the last few words on my essay and simultaneously reading the last few pages of my history book, I finally succeed with a mere two minutes before James Harden appear on the Late Late Show, and I finally go to sleep. Nonetheless did I know, this was only the beginning, the real race is

“Now, let’s do the whole combination facing away from the mirror. From the top-a 5,6,7,8!”

I hit a boy with a bat in the second grade after he said “short girls can’t play baseball.” I saw red, and as my mom says, “When Audrey is seeing red, let her be.” Overcome with emotion and not thinking about consequences, I was too young to find a constructive way to deal with things that upset me. It would not be until my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s five years ago that I found a balance.

Story telling is a uniquely human attribute. It is an imaginative process between the composer and responder that invites us, as the audience to engage vicariously with the experience of others. Stories or narratives have been shared in all culture as a mean of education, entertainment and also to notify the audience of the values and belief systems of our culture. The texts of ‘Through the tunnel’ and ‘Green tomatoes at the Whistlestop Cafe’ conspicuously highlight the ability of storytelling to empower the individual and outline storytelling as a device to inform us of values and people’s transmission is able to transcend time.

They came and started knocking around the ship and I was panicking so much. But we lived! Sorry I haven’t wrote in here for awhile I just didn’t feel like writing anymore after that. Anyway, Captain Curtis sent us here and told us to avoid the people because they speak a different language and if they catch us they will be confused and we will be capped.

1. What is a “thematic narrative”? The term thematic narrative means the narrative points out different themes that are within that data. These themes outline the main points that are going to be used within the ethnography.

Children have a tendency to bring out the very best in people. I can say I have been fortunate to have four little blessings of my own. I consider each of them as a blessing and each day I am reminded of how much they mean to me. My children have brought out the best in me--parts that I never knew existed. As children grow, so do parents. I have evolved into a better person with the courage to overcome all obstacles because of the love that I have for my children.