Descriptive Writing

First and foremost, authors E.B. White and Billy Collins both use exceptional repetition to portray the themes of their writings “Once More to the Lake” and “Forgetfulness”. In the essay “Once More to the Lake,” the main character expressed his connection to the lake from a young age. Later in life he brings his son and begins to be at a loss for his identity while being at the lake. Similar in theme, the poem “Forgetfulness” is a tale describing the loss of parts of one’s life that used to be known, much like identity loss. Repetition is a major key in both texts for pushing the theme of identity loss. During “Once More to the Lake,” E.B White experienced many moments that

E.B. White vividly uses imagery throughout the essay in order to illustrate the lake during his visit. His imagery shows how he cannot let go of the past just yet and accept the new changes made to the lake. His description of the cabin based on his five senses helps establish his focus on the specifics of his memories. His recollection of when the lake was “cool and motionless” and the “bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of” comes to his mind when visiting the cabin again. The description of the lake helps the author reestablish his memories of the lake and helps his need to know that the lake has not altered. White wants to continue to hold on to his memories while visiting the lake with his son. Making the comparisons

E.B. White’s essay,“Once More to the Lake”, illustrates the vivid memories that White experienced while revisiting a lake in Maine with his son. The story begins by describing how White, along with his father, first visited the lake during the summer as a child. It then goes on to explain how he comes to revisit the lake, this time as an adult with his own son. White paints colorful images of the what he observes back at the lake with his son; he does that by going into immense detail when explaining specific features, and how his visit compares to when he went with his own father. White’s story seems to be just a whiff of nostalgia on the surface, but there is a much more fundamental lesson within it. He delves deep into his own consciousness,

Ernest Hemingway created the iceberg theory, by which he expects the reader to know a great deal of information from the little he expresses in his work. This style is evident in his short story, “Hills Like White Elephants,” because the information the reader must obtain is hidden underneath the surface. This writing style often confuses the reader, but when the short story is read multiple times, the reader can connect to Hemingway’s unique use of a variety of essential elements. The relationship between the reader and the story is strengthened by the vivid imagery, appealing setting, multilayered characterization, and a deep symbolism expressed

Here we have two stories “The Bath” and “A Small Good Thing” written by author Raymond Carver with the same premise but different ways of reaching its audience. Within this essay, I will state their differences in style, meaning and tone. While also, comparing particular passages by way of explaining distinctions in the description, and characterization. Each of the differences within these stories is what defines the image within the readers’ imagination. This writer has taken a story and revised it to either have a deeper or shallower meaning to compare each version side by side to share how different enough, it could be to make the story sound as if there were two.

It is a sweltering day, in Arizona and no one is in sight. Everyone is either in the water or inside enjoying the cool air-conditioner. Peeps who is just a tiny little sparrow comes out of his tiny birdhouse and notices no one is outside. After searching around to make sure it okay. He then flies down to the beach to look for some left over food. Peeps then spots an old peanut butter and jelly sandwich and begins to munching down. Peeps was as hungry as a stray dog with no home.

Ernest Hemingway’s overall style is journalistic and succinct, and excludes unnecessary material, allowing his stories underlying meanings to become that much more powerful. This simplistic mode of writing forces the reader to deduce fundamental truths and emotions. Referred to as the Iceberg Theory of story telling, Hemingway employs a style of omission, as the only information offered is external, as within Hills Like White Elephants. Via a third person narrative approach, he creates a decidedly telling account of a man and woman through seemingly ordinary dialogue. The more one explores the text, the more one can understand what value each sentence holds. A catalyst for Hemingway’s style in this short story is its symbolic elements, which contribute to the deeper meaning of the work. The significance behind Hills Like White Elephants lies in the

Sunlight is beaming through the window as the alarm clock beeps louder and louder. The first day jitters have begun. Just a little over two months ago, fourth grade came to an end for Emily and summer vacation began. But, where did the summer go? Long days spent at the beach buried in the sand; seem like a distant memory. Fifth grade has become the reality and being a middle school student is still sinking in.

I finally wake up to my ear wrenching alarm clock. Gosh I hate that thing, it gets so annoying. I threw my blankets off of me to the foot of my bed with most of it on the floor. I got up and basically dragged my body to the bathroom. I turned on the shower to only find ice cold water, again since my mom keeps taking all the hot water. Once I took an ice cold shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and got out, with my dripping wet brown hair falling right in top of my shoulders. I went into my bedroom to face a 30 minute battle of trying to find what to wear for the day. After many fails I finally settled over a plain white tanktop with a florescent pink cardigan, light blue rolled up jeans and white vans.

While walking through the enormous open-gated entry, I glanced down at the freshly printed orange stamp on my hand and smiled to myself. Happy to be back, even though it was sweltering hot, I could not wait for the gut-wrenching fun I was about to enjoy. There seemed to be an ocean of enormous rides set out in front of me. All were shiny and carried the bright colors of the rainbow. Some towered above the rest, reaching great heights within the sky. I could hear the cheerful laughter of children at the carousel, their parents gleefully taking pictures, and the terrified screams of those being swung into the air by monstrous roller coasters.

I looked out onto what was left of the landscape before me one last time. I used to call this place home but it no longer resembles the one I used to know. “It’s funny how things can go from bad to worse in such a short amount of time” I thought to myself. What once used to be a beautiful blue sky full of puffy clouds shaped like anything that could be imagined was now grey and lifeless. The clouds are no longer white and puffy but dark and menacing. They are racing towards us with the impending storm. The buildings we are leaving behind are still tall and immaculate compared to the brown wasteland around them. There was no longer green in sight except for the vehicles and billboards.

I held her frail body, caressing her to my chest as she nuzzled her head into the crook of my arm. It only took one look into her glistening eyes and I instantly fell in love. She was shockingly beautiful, with glossy dark brown fur, beige streaks, and chocolate-swirl puppy eyes that would melt your heart. I decided to name her Bella, after my favorite Italian cuisine restaurant downtown. I carried her into the car, to bring her to her new home. Bella shivered as the brisk breeze brushed past her coat. My stepfather was waiting for us by the front door, and as I came to the steps carrying her, he gave a weak smile. Out of all 5 family members, he was the only one who wasn’t too fond of getting a dog.

She is small and sharp and angular. Her elbows hurt when they're pressed tightly against you and her small fingers dig into your sides. She rests her chin on your shoulder and it sinks into you. Her fingers are flat- but you always remember them flatter than they are. In your mind, they are a 2D part of her. Her hair looks as if someone set it aflame. It reminds you of October, of the orange, crisp leaves. While you are in no way overweight, you are definitely softer than her. Her hands are delicate, you’re always afraid you’ll crush them, so you hold her hand loosely. You can’t decide what color her eyes are. At first, they seem blue, but the next time you see her you could swear they’re green, and occasionally they look a stormy grey.

At my old house, we had a particularly weird attic. Occasionally, I would straddle up the stairs to the attic and be frightened because of all the creaks and moans in the wooden floor. A menorah and Christmas ornaments are typical things you would find in our attic. Since my mother’s side of the family was Jewish and my father’s side of the family was Christian, these items were normal to see with each other. Most people would not really see a problem with it, and, honestly, neither did I until holiday season arrived during winter.

Lodgments (noun): a place of rest or deposit (Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary) “He came forward, searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and then looked up through thick spectacles” (1).