Descriptive Speech

In my informative speech, the topic of the speech was how shoes can affect your health. As my attention getter, I used a narrative about an elderly woman who went through extreme pain from the style of feet at the time. I believe it was effective because it was interesting and the aspect of pain is something many people will listen to. I stated that I was going to be talking about what most people are doing wrong with wearing shoes, what specific shoes can do to one’s health, and ways to prevent shoes from hurting people. The was an implied relationship with the topic to the audience because I believe that everyone in the class wears shoes so they should care what the effects could possibly be.

Caleb is a sweet caring guy would not hurt anyone of anything in the world. He has two friends both named Jacob. He gave them nickname for instance Jb was his friend over 6 years and Jhardy is his football friend. One afternoon Jb asked to Caleb “Hey come to the party with me and Jhardy?” Caleb was being really thoughtful about this because he would only know two people. Caleb responded “Yes, but only stay by my side because I don’t want to feel alone.” Quickly with Jb sudden reaction with excitement said, “Yes!”

Snatching what little clothes I had and packed them like sardines in my suitcase, not even thinking twice about folding it. No one was home at the time, everyone was either at school or working. Sadly, I didn’t have much money on me, just about $20. Besides that, I had about 3 or 4 pairs of outfits and a bus ticket. I knew being in the house would soon drive me insane. As I make my way towards the door, practically dragging my feet across the floor, my eyes can’t help but look around the house forlornly. The conjured images of my siblings and me running through the house giggling and smiling come back to me, even though my life was filled all work and no play. My sorrow eyes become a nonstop waterfall and I think to myself, am I really doing this?

“Are you ready? We are going to be late; hurry up, come on, move it, let's go,” my mom yelled from down stairs.

“Smile!” the photographer yells. My soon to be step-mom (Jen) wraps her arm around me. I can feel her hand brushing against the soft, smooth lavender gown that I’m wearing. I lean in closer to Jen causing my hand to sweep against the cold, embroidered beads on her beautiful wedding dress. Her decorative hairpiece was gracefully placed beside the bun of dark brown hair.  Jen’s dress and jewelry spoke volumes (Personification). Again, I make a few adjustments to my dress and flowers to guarantee the photo turns out well. I swiftly brush away a few strands of hair that have fallen on my face, they had fallen out of my big, brown braid. A smile naturally stretches across my face as the happiness is enough to make even a sullen person smile.

That's what they used to call me because I used to add a “T” to the front of my name. Since I could remember I grew up with a speaking disabled that affect how I pronounce my words.

With the vast possibilities of imagination, nonfiction descriptive writing has become very instrumental in allowing readers the opportunity to live experiences led by various authors in the field. As a result, most readers envision writers as artists expressing their paintings in writing, using a pen as the brush and a paper as the canvas. Using this analogy, readers expect to enjoy the meaning of the story through the content, experience some sense of verisimilitude through the style, and perceive the attention to detail through the grammar. With these key concepts in mind, one looks to examine two nonfiction descriptive writings by two different authors on two different subjects and try to determine how these various central concepts make each story truly exceptional. For this analysis, one examines E.B. White’s Once More to the Lake and Langston Hughes’ Salvation.

It was a perfect cool summer night for the Soccer Club recognition dinner. Our soccer team had won the Championship Cup and was having a grand celebration. My parents were very excited about the evening and told me how proud they were of our victory. “Great job this season, Erick!” said my coach as I walked in. All my teammates were high-fiving each other. On top of that, my best friend, Jimmy, was there for support. He and I had known each other since the first grade and now, both of us thirteen years old, we were like brothers. I could count on him for anything.

I always knew I had a purpose. Seven simple words were written in straight, clean lines on the top of M’s stack of notecards. They were her introduction, an introduction to a speech that M had slaved over because it needed to be perfect. One by one, she riffled through the cards in her deck, reading and whispering the speech aloud. This was going to be, perhaps, the most important hour in M Freeman’s life. She had agonized over her speech during the entire ride to New York City. It was rare for M to travel to the city, even though she lived only a few hours away. In truth, she never really traveled anywhere. So when the limo had arrived to pick her up, in order not to freak out, M had thrown herself into her preparations, as the empty countryside slowly grew into bridges, traffic buildings, and crowded sidewalks. And now, sitting in a waiting room, M repeated those seven simple words to herself and she was in full interview mode.

It was the evening after Halloween in 2016, nervous, tired and excited. My team as well as other cheer teams gathered up in small groups dancing around in circles. As soon as the music stops, we all knew that it’s the time we all had been waiting for, the awards ceremony. This ceremony tells us if we go to Wescon (regionals) or not, and if we do go to Wescon there is a chance we can go to Walt Disney World for Nationals. Everyone was so nervous, but once the announcer called our division we all knew it was time. We were all squeezing each others hands as they called second place. It wasn’t us. Once the announcer said, “and for first place…” we all went silent as this moment could make or break us. “ The Huntington Beach Chargers” the announcer yelled. We started screaming as two of my teammates got the trophy. We were excited.

A mere minute before my first High School Band audition for the Lewis Palmer Wind Symphony, I sobbed like a gloomy, sunburned skunk. Tears ran down my red, splotchy face as I stood in the middle of a crowd of Seniors who decided to watch from the distance, not wanting to be affected by my spray. Being the amazing person that she is, however, my mom came to my rescue in the midst of the onlookers and was able to solve all of my life’s worries with one sentence: “Everything is going to be okay.”

Some of the most confusing thoughts that a young girl can have is “Why does all of my friends have two parents but I only have a mom?” “Who is my dad?” “Where is my dad?” “Will I ever met my dad?” Eventually, all of these questions will be confronted and answered; on April 5th, 2008, my dad was released from a Federal Correctional Facility. This particular day, my mom approached me and sat me down to say that I am going to meet my dad for the first time. Because I never met this man, various emotions were running through me, I was scared, excited, but carious all at once. I had so many questions I wanted to ask my father such as, “Where have you been?” “Do you recognize me?” “Do you know my name?” Being an 8 year old girl, I didn’t digest how meeting my father can affect me as a person.

When I was six years old, my father would take me his frequent stops to Walmart every week. One could imagine how repetitive the car ride would be so as a way to make it a little more thrilling, I would entertain my father by asking him facetious questions. These questions ranged from subjects like, “ Why is the sky blue?” or “ Are there bathrooms in Heaven?” No matter how childish the question, my father would always have an elaborate answer that left me with more questions. However, once I asked my father about the origin of my name, he just answered me with four simple words: We just liked it. Recently, I’ve tried to bog the mind of my mother and try to understand where she got the name “Taylor Ashley” from.

That what they used to call me because I used to add a “T” to the front of my name. Since I could remember I grown up with a speaking disabled that affect how I pronounce my words.

"Bye!" I said to my friend Olivia as we departed to go to our homerooms. When I walked into class, the boys were already there and so was Shelby and Jadyn. Before I go any farther, let me explain. Our classroom was set up in rows. For example, the first row on the left side consisted of 4 desks next to each other. Then the row behind it had 4 desks, and the row behind that 5. On the right side of the classroom, there were 3 rows of 3. The boys, Bryson, Blake, Josh, and Brady sat in the first row of the left, and the girls, Shelby, Jadyn, Taliah, and I sat in the row directly behind them. Let 's just say that the 8 of us were the "cool kids" of the class. Every morning, they would turn around and talk to us. Today, I walked in and everyone