Essay about Creative Writing - Belonging

One day, cutting through the swamp, David comes across the remains of old Indian souls and discovers a skull with jewelry still buried on the bodies. As David kicks at the skull, he hears a voice and looks up to see a black man seated on a stump just looking. The man, wearing a black sash around his body, has a soot-stained face, which makes it appear as if he works in some fiery place. David soon recognizes the stranger as the devil, the black man. Twenty years later we had a family reunion with all my relatives and they started talking about the fire.

Ever since I was in elementary school, I have had a strong fascination with literature. Overtime, I had a plethora of books lining my bookcases and barely had room for any more. Reading was a necessity to me and it still is to me today. I eat, sleep, and breath literature because I feel like it’s essential to my academic career. Literature does many wonderful things like, teach me about life lessons, transport me to a new world that I have only dreamed about going to, and discover new vocabulary.

My English Literature major has helped me to achieve an outstanding level of appreciation, enjoyment, and knowledge of both American and British Literature. As a high school AP English student, I struggled through great works like Hamlet and To the Lighthouse. My teacher’s daily lectures (there was no such thing as class discussion) taught me merely to interpret the works as critics had in the past. I did not enjoy the reading or writing process. As a freshman at Loras, I was enrolled in the Critical Writing: Poetry class. For the first time since grade school, my writing ability was praised and the sharing of my ideas was encouraged by an enthusiastic and nurturing professor. Despite the difficulty of poetry, I enjoyed reading it.

“ There are your radish seeds everyone.” Said Mr. Susick. The whole class looked around at each other with a blank confused face. It was the first day of junior year in my English class. Mr. Susick started talking about how our first assignment would be to grow radishes. We were all thinking, how in the world does gardening relate to English class. I had heard about this project from previous juniors but none of them said what the real reason was. All Mr. Susick said was that you need to let the project teach itself and get into nature. He left us with one bit of information along with the requirements to start. The main goal of the assignment was to extract your own universal truths. For the first time in English class,

Like most people, writing has made an impact on my life. I didn’t notice it right away, but once I did it changed my life forever. I consider myself to be a fairly decent writer and I would say it was the only thing that kept me going. I love writing that involves thinking and real emotion. Writing journals and letters have helped me get through a lot in my life and that is really something I will never forget.

There is a multitude of jobs and careers I want to have, as some of you may know, but I think we’re only allowed to talk about one. However, there is one job in particular that I know that I’ll do, whether I’m paid for it or not. That job is writing. Not only do you need language skills, but I believe that you will need creativity and an immense amount of patience in order to be a successful writer of any sort.

You used to think the philosophy 'you only live one' is the most ridiculous excuse for justifying everything you've ever heard of - if you're meant to be reckless and live as fast as you can, 'there's a million and one ways to die' sounds much nicer. Explore them. Investigate them. Enjoy them. Cherish everyone of them, especially that split second between when you lean back in your chair and it hangs midway in air so close the the ground that the only thing you can think of is 'that is it.'

The rising sun was orient in the blue sky. Dewdrops sparkle in the morning sun. Someone patted me on the back. The man whipped out a knife. He was a fat clumsy and dirty looking man. His hair had been badly cut and the ends were uneven. The sight made me stop dead in my tracks. Fear stole into my heart. He cowed me with his threats. The smell of smoke clung to his clothes.On the one hand, he had pressed and held both my hands. On the other hand, he continually stroked my body. He just bear down on me with all his strength so I was unable to repel and move. The rough cloth pricked my skin.Then I just lost it and started screaming. "Stop it !" I bellowed at him. My word made no impression on him. No one was on the scene at the time. Why he did it? What was his intention in doing that? How could this happen to me? Why should it be me? After that, every step I took sent the pain shooting up my thighs. I could not breathe. As I straightened up, the ache in my back grew worse. I bore the pain without a word of complaint. I thought it would

The relationship that I have with writing is complicated and we don’t always get along. Although we tend to make up even when I get frustrated and want to quit. When being assigned a paper I struggle with what to write. My words seem to never come out the way I would like and I’m always having to start over and over again. It starts to get frustrating after a while. Needless to say writing isn’t one of my favorite things to do but it’s apart of our everyday lives like texting, sending emails, posting on Facebook, Twitter, and so on. I personally have only used texting as my main daily form of writing since I graduated high school. So therefore I would like to refresh my memory of what I learned in high school and widen my use of writing while in this writing course.

The room started spinning, his stomach leapt into his throat, and he felt the bitter taste of bile in his mouth. The urge to throw up grew stronger, as he realised, they were never coming home. He felt like a stranger in his own body, a prisoner in his own mind.

Strutting through the familiar, gate worn by time, I spread my arms, taking in the saccharine aroma of the fresh grass. The remaining glimmers of the sun glisten on every blade that peeks through the moist soil, composing a sea of sparkling beauty, only comparable to a poem. The meadow is breathtaking this evening, as the sun sets behind the trees in the distance, leaving a glow of pinks, peaches, ambers, and crimsons behind as if a bowl of fruit had exploded in the sky.

My writing process begins with my brainstorming ideas and writing them down on a separate piece of paper. That way I already know what Im going to be writing about and not just putting down a bunch of gibberish into my assignment. But this process only works if im having to writing an actual story or when doing a persuasive essay. Once all my ideas are jot down or I have what I’m going to write about in my head, I start writing my paper.

Through this creative writing class, I gained a newfound respect for writing. Writing had allowed me and continues to allow me to see the world through a different perspective; with this thought in mind, I decided I would no longer allow creative writing to be placed on the backburner in my life. When the outside world goes to shambles, I know I can turn to writing to help me make sense of what is happening and to escape life’s troubles even if only

in a long black coat, stood a man – his eyes pierced her skin as he

All throughout my years of schooling, I’ve had just about, one paper that was about one page long, due every year. My papers never had to be more than one page in length. Therefore, I did not have to do much writing or do many essays. Surely not enough to remember any of the assignments. Writing has never been something I enjoyed doing, so I never bothered to many any memories of my writing experiences. I did not think it was necessary to remember any of them since I only had to do them to get a grade. The only writing experience I remember was the first assignment I had in this English 100 class about a writing experience. All week long, I sat there thinking about what to write about, but nothing came to mind as a topic. Then, one thing came to mind, but it was so very vague, I could not write the length that was needed for the assignment. I could only think of a few sentences to write for it. After sitting for a few moments longer, I thought, how about I write about how difficult it was for me to write this essay before it was due.