College Admissions Essay: My Life As A Writer

Do we do it as a gratifying interest or is it a replacement for the emptiness or loneliness we feel? Everyone has a story to be told, but we all go about it in a different way or form just like two very well-known authors, George Orwell and James Baldwin. In the essay from “Why I Write” by George Orwell, the author presents his personal journey to becoming a writer. He also explores the reasons for why writers write and what they write. In addition, in the essay from “The Creative Process” by James Baldwin, the author presents writers in today’s society.

Working a full-time job, raising children, and attending college are not an easy task as many people could think. Parents always have difficulties in managing and prioritizing their time. I had to sacrifice my social life as well as my family this semester because I needed to focus on my English 1100 class. MacCaughey, who is my English 1100 instructor, has helped me grow as a writer because of the way he taught us on how to be a good writer. My confidence as a writer had always been low and I never had a clear direction in writing. Through this class, I was able to learn how to develop my ideas into writing process. Ascending the banisters of my writing process, I greatly learned about the narrative style of writing, the formal way to critical analyze a text, and write a response about it. I also learned how to write a persuasive text in a conveying manner and answering a question with the help of a secondary source more of

Writing is a practice that most of us were taught when we were young. We were taught the basics of grammar, how to form a sentence, conjunction words, how to write paragraphs and more. Although we have learned this skill while growing up and have used the skill every year after entering kindergarten, this does not mean our writing process will ensure the best work. The authors that I chose each encourage their audience to excel in the art of writing in their own way to help with the writing process.

A few of them are completely blank, devoid of anything besides blue college-ruled lines. Most, however, are well-worn, with pages upon pages covered in handwritten rainbows of ink and graphite. Even though their contents may not be worth the space, and they are completely filled, I cannot bring myself to throw those notebooks away. They are a part of my history.

I've wanted to be a writer since I learned how to read at the age of five. The fact that these words on a page could create a whole other world in my head fascinated me to no end. I immersed myself in these books, much to the chagrin of my younger sister who just wanted to play. Books became an escape from acknowledging the fact that I was horribly shy and had no true friends. The characters who lived among those pages and let me peek into their lives became truer friends than I had ever had. At least fictional characters never abandon you for other people, never move away, never drift away from you until you are simply an ignored distant memory in the corner of their mind. I wanted nothing more than to give those companions to other people, and the sheer joy of creating those lives and worlds would be award enough.

I never had any idea what I wanted to do in college, much less after graduating. While my friends had clear visions of their future as neurological surgeons or following the footsteps of Ban-ki Moon, I was lost.

I enrolled in Creative Writing as a challenge to myself to branch outside of my comfort zone of reading, and reverse the roles by becoming a writer. Coming into this class, I had no previous experience creatively writing; however, I knew that in order to go into my desired profession as a developmental editor for young adult fiction, I must know how to do what I want to tell others to do, write a well formed story. Through my experience in this class, I have had the opportunity to learn about the creative writing process and my personal relationship with it as well as dabble in multiple forms of creative writing, for which I would have never otherwise tried.

I used to believe; if there were books to read, I could always find peace. Sadly, my growing interest in writing, increased my need to escape. Even though my love for books never diminished, my need to write no longer was just for satisfaction. I now wished to make a career out of my desire to write. This dream pushed me to work harder and write more. From stories, to poems, to song lyrics, my writing had evolved. Writing had become a part of my daily routine, and I began to seek praise for my writings. My need for praise created a fear of rejection. I feared someone not appreciating what I wrote. Finding fault in what I chose to express through my writings, and when that faithful day arrived, I was devastated. Years of praise and critiques, never prepared me for what occurred at Warwick High School. My first year (9th grade), during second semester, sixth period English with Mrs. Elliot Skinner; what I had feared the most, had come true in the worse possible way.

     From a very young age, writing has been a passion of mine. Through writing I have developed an

When usually I’d be writing dozens of pages worth of research papers and document outlines, I wrote short-stories and novels that relaxed me as much as they gave me intrigue. Gradually writing became very therapeutic for me, succeeding in disarming my anxiety in ways I never thought possible. Never before had I been exposed to such limitless possibilities, and I grew to appreciate how writing let me dictate conditions which in the real world I had little to no control over. What’s more, I strongly feel that my writing is a great extension of myself, and the perfect representation of who I am as a person. Although it never ceases to amaze me, as I once thought it impossible, my writing has often succeeded in perfectly capturing every one of my individual qualities, everything ranging from my ADHD to my dark humor. At first, my writing was born purely out of necessity, as I strived to reach higher grades on my writing assignments and essays. And yet, even for this, writing was a source of joy and relief for me, a much needed escape for my opinions and

Writing has always played a huge role in my life. I’ve been reading writing for as long as I can remember as I have an immense love of reading. This love would grow into a love for writing as well; I still stumble upon journals and writings from my five-year-old self about the happenings in my kindergarten class. As time would go on I would discover academic writing, and how to convey my thoughts on what was the topic of student that particular year or semester in my schooling. Later, writing would become a constant for me, and a comfort; I was known to my friends as always having a journal, and a pen on my person. I learned to write down my feelings and my thoughts, song lyrics that were in my head, reflections for the day. I learned how

I had a hard time moving through the rainforest. But once I got used to it, more things started to come together. Once I had finally learned how to make a fire, my next step was to find shelter. When I was searching for shelter I wasn’t really searching for protection, but for a home. I needed a place to feel comfortable in. A place to grow. It was hard to find something like that in a place so foreign to me. Fiction writing was a home for me. It was something I found comfort in. In that home I had built, there

As I kid, I always loved to read and write. Reading provided me with another world to escape from my own. There was an exact beginning and an end. Books were a comfort because it was something no one had control over what I chose. I got to choose what type of book I read. I loved writing, because it gave me a chance to create this world. I got to create my own fantasy. As I grew up, not only were reading and writing a way to escape the pressures of the world, but it also became a comfort like an old friend who you have not seen in a long time, but it feels like they never left. The power of reading and writing, I believed, could significantly change a person’s outlook on life. So, I read to become someone else and learn about life. I read to explore the world. I wrote to create new places to escape to. I wrote to implement scenarios that I wished existed. I read and write to be free.

In order to understand why I am such an avid writer, it is crucial to understand portions of my background. Growing up, words either failed to matter or were put to harsh uses. Therefore, I developed a passion for giving life to each fictional scenario through pen upon paper. My primary style took the form of lyrics in nonsensical songs about the breakups I never had. As I got older, they began to transform into songs based solely on my

Writing has always been a crucial part of my life. Despite any issues I faced, from my penmanship to my versatility as a writer, I wasn’t going to let these dilemmas prevent me from accomplishing my goals. Prosperity never came easy and at times it did seem futile to continue trying, but defeat wasn’t an option. Reflecting on the obstacles I conquered, it’s because of the arduous process I endured that allowed me to evolve into the writer I am today.