Creative Writing: Dr. Liveseys-Personal Narrative

When it comes to writing I have a mental breakdown, I get nervous, overthink, and emotionally stressed. These three words describe me as a writer. In high school I would have a difficult time starting papers, often times my weaknesses was grammar and sentences fragments. How I feel about writing is how I feel when a love one dies. It's like as if I'm at a funeral and my paper is the one being funeralized. I think the reason why I am how I am about writing is because my college English teacher in high school was so harsh on my papers, and ever since then I've been traumatize to write papers.

The Journey to Doctor Livesey’s house was a quiet one. There were no signs of the men who were with Pew anywhere near us on the southern English countryside, thank the heavens. The only sounds to befall upon my ears were the steady clip clop of the horse’s hooves, and the continuous buzzing of numerous insects. No words could be found to kindle a conversation, and I had no desire to start one. Flitting moments of time passed by, and soon enough, Doctor Livesey’s house appeared.

A significant compromise that I have made would be deciding to forgive my mother for kicking me out in order to live with her again. When I was about 15 years old, me and my mother got into an argument that ended with her dropping me off at my grandmother's door and driving off. I was upset and just asked my grandmother if I could stay, she would do this a lot so I assumed that she was not serious. About a week later she brought over my bed and my clothes. I had realized that she was serious and did not want me back home. A few months later I found a stray dog being thrown off a car in the freeway so I decided to get it. My aunt, who I was also living with, told me that there were no dogs allowed at her home so we drove to PetSmart. They were

There are writers and there are readers, I prefer to be placed in the categories of a reader. I will love to be called a writer, but I have a lot of complications when it comes to writing. For a starter I am not excellent at spelling so I get uncertain about writing. I pass my high school writing test with a decent grade, which I believe was a miracle. I may not be firm in writing, but I make sure that I do my best when it's mandatory. I'm not a big fan of writing but I write two to three hundreds words a day through social media. The site that I accomplish the most writing on is Facebook. whenever my friends post a picture or a funny video I intent to comment on it and my friend will response to that comment which will resolve in comments

I surveyed the burning forest as it crackled, hungry for fuel to flare brighter. I sighed as my already distorted shadow warped further. Any other person would think it was just the fire, but I knew better as the dark figure solidified and rose off the ground, turning into a boy who looked about 3 years older than me. He had black hair that covered one red eye and always moved as if he had his own personal wind surrounding him. He wore shadowy jeans, shirts and hoodies. “Blake,” I greeted him. “Hello Kai,” he replied with a smirk. He scanned the area, a hand on his hip, before making the already small distance between us smaller. He cupped my face in one hand and I tried not to lean into his comforting touch

What is a writer? A writer is a person who writes stories, books, poems ect. Throughout my early years of school when it came to writing I felt that it was never my strong suit. There are many difficulties people face when writing, some that I have faced was writers block and proper grammar. When an essay or writing assignment was giving it would take me hours to complete due to writer’s block. I had a hard time organizing thoughts and not being able to stay focused this made it difficult to write. That was one major reason but another was grammar, punctuation plays a huge role. When writing Not knowing where to place certain marks and commas also made writing difficult for me to write a proper essay. Writing for me had been a challenge but has gotten better with time.

As my mother and I were driving on a horrendously windy day, I howled something that was incomprehensible. She stopped the vehicle in bewilderment and outrage, and immediately questioned me for the reasoning of this action. All I could do was stand and point in awe of what I was witnessing. She immediately discovered the bird too, just sitting in a long-dead cornfield. The ruckus startled the Bald Eagle, and began to fly away. My mother attempted to draw out her phone to take a picture of the beautiful bird, only to lose control of the device, dropping it on the vehicle’s floor. The marvelous bird flew directly above our vehicle, merely feet away, leaving me to this day striving to understand and appreciate all this country has provided me.

Today started as a normal day. I woke up at four to get ready for my shift. Being a doctor doesn't have the best schedule. You go in when they tell you and you can't leave until they say so. To me saving lives is worth it otherwise i wouldn't have dealt with college. On my commute to work i made my usual stop at the local coffee shop and continued on. As i was approaching the hospital my pager went off, it was my boss telling me that someone was going in for an emergency operation and that i was needed in the operation room as soon as possible. I ran the rest of the way and got into my scrubs as soon as i could. When i got the the operation room they had already started so i went to get some info from the nurses. According to one of them the patient was a fifty

Academy, I have always been significantly behind everyone else. I never really cared until I got to junior high. I was sitting in my math class and my teacher, Mr.Catanese, puts on a coat, a pair of sunglasses, and a Katy Perry song on. I was confused and intrigued, so I paid attention to a grown man singing as if he was a teenage girl. After his song, he got on with the lesson and told us to call him Mr.Cat. I knew what he was teaching, but I just couldn’t care less so I acted like I was paying attention, but truly I was daydreaming about a girl I met earlier That week. I was called on to answer a question on the board. I panicked and quickly looked at the equation. I knew the answer but didn’t answer out of fear or disrespect.

When I think about how I feel about writing my mind instantly wonders to a number of emotions. My feelings towards writing cannot be described as an area of black and white as a result of my emotions towards writing solely depends on why I am writing at the time. Am I writing because I was asked to? Am I writing as a hobby? It all depends on why I am writing and also, another factor that coincides with my emotions towards writing is how I feel about the topic I am writing about. Do I feel passionate about the topic? Do I feel indifferent towards the topic? I learned through my experience with writing over the years that I can potentially enjoy type of writing. I always loved writing personal narratives because the words translated with ease

Ever since I was little, I remembered going into the main office to read stories to the secretaries. I loved reading and writing stories for others to enjoy. As I kept writing for school and eventually in the teen section of the local newspaper I realized the duty of a writer- to inform and influence. With this responsibility comes decisiveness and the determination to write in truth. The significance of our diction emulates our character and the society we want to live in.

Writing never was my favorite subject. I used struggled to put ideas together and writing a paper about it. My career requires good communication skills, and for a while, I was satisfied with the level of writing I had because it was good enough to compose memos and interoffice written documents.

Imagine: a chubby six year old with dark brown hair and green eyes sits at a table writing in a notebook, her dark brows furrowed in concentration. A second grader with long, honey blonde locks walks up to the little girl and asks her what’s wrong. The six year old tells the girl she’s trying to write about “the real world” but is having trouble.

It was warm, as the sun peered through the blinds. The prolonged rain had finally ended and It was like any other Monday for him; the start of another week of work for him. He dragged his feet to the bathroom and looked in the mirror to see drooping eyelids with gloomy, dark circles filled with lethargy, showing a lack of sleep. His face was two different tones of colour, most likely from over-working on his truck and the excessive sunlight that polluted his face.

Throughout my life, I noticed that if I want to have an everlasting friendship, I have to choose a person who loves, cares, and respects me and I struggled a lot to find a friend with these personalities. However, my relationship with writing is similar to my friendship. Until this time, writing and I are not good friends. There is a huge space that keeps us away from each other. I describe my relationship with writing as a struggle; I have always struggled in choosing a title, topic and the words that I have to use. Therefore, to get closer to writing I have to do some actions and these actions require hard working, learning, and practicing. Writing for others is a hobby but to me it’s a punishment and I only write when I’m forced to.