Reflective Essay On English Class

English class has never been my strong suite. I always had to work twice as hard in English then I did in any other class. Writing paper always had me stressed and overwhelmed, I felt discouraged in my work. l never seemed to be able to get to the level I wanted to. I would try my hardest and paid attention in class, but when it came to writing the paper none of that seemed to help. I think that my experience in English Composition 1 has helped gain and grow in some areas, but I don’t think that it highlights a well-written college essay. Some elements that I worked to improving was introduction paragraphs, tone, style, and thesis statements.

Prior to my development of routine introspection and, consequently, maturation, I wrote not to encapsulate my ever-growing discomfort towards life, but rather to gain praise and acknowledgement for my efforts in writing. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I sat on the floor of my kindergarten classroom criss-cross applesauce-style as my teacher, Mrs. Glickman, asked the class to write a short story and to provide an illustration to accompany it. With smudged and disorderly speckles of graphite sprawled across my paper, I managed to write a story in my signature chicken-scratch handwriting. The story was relatively simple, about a girl who had thought she was a hideous monster until she looked into a river reflection and realized she was beautiful. I even drew (or attempted to draw) a beautiful girl for the second part of the assignment. At the next school assembly, Mrs. Glickman granted me a sky-colored paper, reading “Award of Recognition: Kiana Lucin, for her creative writing and exemplary drawing skills.” From this point on, I prided myself in writing, and excelled

Writing may be an enthralling experience for one and a clever way to decompress for another. In general, however, writing has different purposes for a variety of people. “Why I Write,” written in the late 20th century by Terry Tempest Williams, describes various reasons for writing narrated from a female’s perspective. The short essay begins in the middle of the night with a woman engulfed in her own thoughts. She abruptly goes forth by reciting the multiple reasons why she continues to write in her life. Through a variety of rhetorical devices such as repetition, imagery, analogies, and symbolism, Terry Tempest Williams produces an elegant piece of writing that offers the audience insight into the narrator’s life and forces the audience to have empathy for the narrator with the situation she is incurring.

From the early beginning of the school year to the current day, my writing skills and knowledge have improved and broadened over time. If not drastic, the change is noticeable nevertheless. For almost an entirety of eighth grade, assignments of varying difficulty challenged me to a degree. To be frank, some seemed as though they were beyond my comprehension and ability. However, determination amalgamated with knowledge obtained in advance helped me to overcome my doubts, for I exceeded my expectations; surprisingly good grades and comments are a delight, owing to the fact of that I don’t tend to think of myself as being proficient at writing. Consequently, the assignments given to me this school year shaped me into who I am as a writer.

Writing is so much easier when you don’t have a ridiculous amount of guidelines you have to follow. With literary freedom, we are able to express ourselves more than if we have to follow a specific set of rules for every thing we write. This is one downfall for high school English. We have to order our papers in a specific sequence while writing about a topic that is chosen for us. This English composition class changed all of that. We were able to write about anything that related to the given type of essay, which greatly improved our ability to fully immerse ourselves into every paper. This greatly affected my writing thoughts about writing; they changed from hating to write for school to actually enjoying it because I was able to

When I started the English Composition course I expected an entirely different type of writing. I expected more of a story telling writing, novelist, story and screenplay writing. To my surprise, it was a different world of grammar, style, voice, sentence mechanics and structure guidelines. I was afraid of something new and challenging. I expected more of a three act structure to write a novel or a short story but the course was different. Different in a helpful way that it opened my eyes to how the overall writing process works.

In August, our first day in the college class, Mrs. Garth talked with the class about what this semester was going to be like. She spoke to us as college students and not little children. She told us that Comp. was all about writing. As a class, we knew there would be more writing than we were use to, but the very first paper that Mrs. Garth told us to write was unlike any other paper I had ever wrote on my own. We were told to write about our favorite foods, our not so favorite foods, or a tragedy that has happened to us in our life. Of course, I wrote about the tragedy, my paper was written on the note of my grandmother passing away. I used very descriptive details in my writing about what the days were like for me and how I felt after she was gone. While writing the paper, I thought to myself

OH, you know what. Please forgive me, but I believe I never actually addressed your question, “What is creative writing?” Interesting that you ask, well for starters such a question is insurmountably subjective because the question itself is asking for a definitive upon an infinity, like get out of here. Not to bore you with technicalities or anything, I just don’t think that answer is possible, unless....But of course! It is not an answer you seek, but an opinion. In that case, creative writing is the outlet to my daily tribulations, it is the sum of all what is possible on an intangible field that I call,

As a high school student taking on a college course, I acknowledged and accepted the challenge that lay ahead of me. The main reason I selected Composition I and II was that it allowed me to vastly improve my overall writing skills. Developing my techniques will benefit me when I am required to compose any writing assignments for my future college classes. Therefore, with that goal in mind, I chose to take this class while still attending high school. I began this class as an average writer; additionally, I did not know the majority of the writing rules or how to make an essay meet its potential. Over the course of these two classes, I believe that I have proven my writing to be more seamless and interesting to read.

When a person composes their work, they allow their ideas to dilate into a story that takes their reader into a journey. The journey is not merely for the reader, but for the author. The author gain a writing experience from their journey that guides when they write other material. All writing experiences are depending on the person. Their writing experience can drive them to regularly add more details to enrich their story. On the other hand, a writer can be compelled to critique their work to enhance it. As a writer, I grasped many lessons from my own experience. One of my most memorable writings was a story in addition to a thought-provoking essay. This memorable writing experience was my research paper for my 12th grade English class.

All the stories and essays I had written for my creative writing and English classes in college were kept in a wicker basket in my small apartment room. One morning, I went through everything to try and part with some material. I picked up my portfolio from a writing class I had my junior year and began reading the story I submitted as my final piece. I knew that reading it now meant I would be cringing at the young, flawed writer I was. Except I wasn’t focused on the writer as I read through, but the person.

I have improved my tone, diction, and I’ve finally found a voice that I can now fully utilize in my day-to-day writing, be it typed or physically written. While I may have had many a setback thrown my way, they won’t stop my seemingly fruitless climb to the top of this hole I’ve dug. My goals are to bury the tragedy that is my mental state, and I will continue my efforts in ensuring that my recollections of life no longer interfere with my personal works (unless my personal opinion is deemed necessary). In summary, I believe I have improved vastly, and this exponential growth is indebted to both my renewed mental stimulation, as well as the great lengths my teacher has gone to in order to teach us our identities as authors. My goals are to bury the hatchet I’ve held since the day I put pen to paper, and I strive to become a writer whose works may be summed up in a more conclusive manner, rather than being drawn out. This year has been the cause of emotional turmoil that I’d never wish upon anyone, but only time can tell when I’ll decide to extract my

Being a high school student while taking two college English composition classes has been anything but effortless. Essay after essay and something is almost always due the day of class. The assignments are never worksheets that take little to no thought or quick reads in a text book. No, what happens in English 111 and English 112 is the gaining of rhetorical knowledge, mastering the process in developing an academic essay, and plenty of critical thinking.

It was a very sad day in small town Rosalie, Nebraska. The sun didn’t seem to be shining as bright and the usual small, energetic children were nowhere to be found. It wasn’t the same without Betty Nelson around in the community of just a hundred or so people. The sweet, gentle smell of her cookies baking or the quick glimpse of the twinkle in her eye when she would tell her famous stories. My great-grandmother was someone very special to almost everyone that met her. She was always doing everything she could to help people, family or not. She was one of the wisest people and no one, especially me could get enough of her stories and adventures from her past childhood, teenage years, and motherly experiences. I was so shocked she was actually gone, after all the delightful memories I now had with her, but it was now time for everyone to grieve. I sat in the room, perspiration filling my nose as the sound of quiet sobs coming from my family around me fill my thoughts. I thought back to the good times as my mother told me to do. My favorite memory then came to me,

However, that extremely daunting task of writing knowing that it was going to take a lot out of you emotionally is what makes it feel so important to write. Moving on, I noticed -when writing this essay, I had to take a few breaks and come back to it. Every time I wrote something that happened, the memories resurfaced, so as you read what I wrote you are hearing it for the first time; but for me, I was reliving it like it just happened. For example, when I scrivened “Driving the jeep home, was like the way my life had been for the previous year, suffocating and uncontrollable as the exhaust walked into my lungs.” (Babson) To this day, I can still smell that awful stench of the exhaust pipe; it was not fast and sudden like someone running into the car but it was a slow sneak, creeping into your lungs until all of the sudden you can’t breathe and didn’t even notice the change. That feeling of suffocation, and the uncontrollable loss, hit me as I was writing this. It was so unbearable, I often had to walk outside or go swimming just to overcome the claustrophobic feeling. Another example would be when I stated: “…but on the inside she was dying. Who could save her, from herself? That final sentence probably hit me the hardest when reviewing my life story; no one realized how much I had stored