“Write about something that will appeal to the Readers’ emotions.” Who knew that those words would not only confuse me, but they would lead to candid concise clarity. These words were spoken by my English Teacher my sophomore year of High School, yet she was so much more than just my school teacher. She believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.
As a little girl, I was forced to grow up way before my time. I never had the ability to forgive and let go. I was suffocated with the memories of my past. Mrs. Westby, my English Teacher, could tell that my writings only scratched the surface. She asked me to stay after class the day she announced our writing prompt. I did as she requested. Later that day, she sat me down and asked me several questions. I answered most surface level, afraid to let anyone see that I was broken.
…show more content…
It showed me how to express my thoughts and innermost being through writing. I fell in love with writing my trials, my experiences, and my past. I learned how to finally accept the things I couldn’t change about myself, but learned that with courage, I could change who I was into who I knew I wanted to be. Writing gave me my escape. After Mrs. Westby’s interrogation, I was only writing about an apartment. White walls. Two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. There are millions more just like it everywhere you look. For some reason, this one held so much power over me. The memories are etched clearer in my mind than what happened yesterday. I went on to describe an encounter with my sister, Jessica, when she was addicted to Crystal Meth. It was a ten year olds story of brokenness, written by a 15 year old. This little girl was forced to grow up way to fast. I remember tears streaming down my cheeks while releasing my heart on
When I write about things I love, it helps me become really creative. If a person writes a lot , they would start loving to read. Writing allows me to be able to enjoy other people stories and ideas. While reading, a person can broaden their vocabulary, and use those words in their writings. I can apply this in the future by writing more when I have free time, and in schools when I have to write a ten page paper.
In order to earn her degree in creative writing she needed to complete a novel or set of short stories. She intended to write her memoir but ran into some issues. The emotions about what had happened were still too raw and reliving her memories was too much for her to handle at that time. Instead, she wrote an autobiographical novel. The events that happened in the book all happened to her, but the presence of a fictional character to represent her helped create tolerable distance between her and her experiences. This novel prepared her to write her memoir. Writing her memoir allowed her confront her past in a new way. It required her to revisit her memories as a writer rather than as herself with all her entangled emotions. Examining her life through a different lens allowed her to heal.
I want my audience to be emotionally drawn towards my writing. I want them to realize that certain things are not as important in life as they believe it to be or that certain things are more important and shouldn't be neglected.
My mind had begun to clutter like a prison, very ironic being that’s what living here felt like. I heard the sounds *Click-Click, Click-Clack* flying through the hall as I sat on my bed in a room so full of expensive items and clothes that you would be convinced that I am loved. My stomach growled being that I hadn’t eaten all day and it was a Saturday. On Saturdays Kayne is off work and even if he was nice when sober, I was still scared. Even the social workers would believe that everything here was okay. A realization needs to be made that
O'Conner (2003) argued that the writer should focus on cultivating its reader by portraying their idea in an effortlessness manner. She argues that communication between the author and reader is an important goal, the author holds the sole responsibility to ensure that the reader is not left confused and can walk away with a meaningful connection. She adds that being a simpleminded may seem easier but if the author and reader in a conflicting relationship then it may be impossible to generate a soothing and touching experience.
Enchanted by her serene radiance, I did not disturb her. Suddenly she began to speak in a whispered hum that was more like a song, unique in a dwelling full of ranting outbursts. She spoke of years long past, swimming in the pond with her sister and dancing in the moonlight. I could picture all in my head, like I was watching a movie. Then she began repeating the story she had just told me, and I realized that she was merely talking to herself. Although this discovery disenchanted me at first, I soon realized that, although the woman was talking to herself, she still had so many fantastic stories stored in her mind. The residents of the home all had some life flittering in them and numerous stories to share; they just need someone to listen to them. After my experience at the home I knew that one of my goals in life would always be o help make sure that people were receiving proper treatment, and not merely stuffed away and drugged up.
The week before Anabelle and I moved out into the city, I felt the nerves, the jittering butterflies of happiness, and the warm hugs our parents gave us in the limited time that we had left. The week after we settled and moved into our new apartment If I had known what was to come, however, I never would have departed from my parents. All the good memories I and Anabelle shared throughout our lives, were taken away, all vanquished because of one night. Those hours of darkness that which we spent out, I wish so much that we could take back. It was supposed to be a night of fun, an awakening of our new lives as adolescents, but what happened instead was a tragedy. In the blink of an eye, I was gone. My soul, my body, my entirety, erased. And so was Anabelle’s.
It was a warm summer day in Salt Lake City, Utah where a little girl named Mona Johnson just 13 years old, was sitting in her last class before she went home. It was the class she had hated the most, writing class. Ever since she was a little girl writing stories were always the worst part of her day. Coming up with ideas were always so hard for her. She just didn't have as many ideas as everyone else. So she had always thought that it was torture but she never knew how bad it could be until the day when her worst nightmare came true. Which was today…
It gave me more of an understanding of what incoming college students face when writing and what to expect in this more academically challenged environment. “What Is ‘Academic’ Writing?” by L. Lennie Irvin is a short story about how first-time college students and how they think to have these kinds of expectation figured out to write an academically correct paper and the troubles they face. He also mentions the Importance of developing a writer’s sense, the myths about writing, the three most common types of college writing assignments and talks about the complex literacy tasks in assignment students struggle with. I really thought his story compare to a lot of what was happening in my life. I was struggling as a writer and I thought I knew what the expectations were going to be heading into college, but I didn’t. The number one thing I would like to focus on and compare it to my life as a writer are the myths people have about
Writing became a way for me to express other feelings throughout my young years, but I always ended up writing in notebooks about how I was lonely and felt that I was the source of everything wrong in my life.
Why me? Out of everyone, why me?!” I exclaimed. My eyes burned, my heart rate increased, and I felt the transudation of sweat down my back. Infuriated, I aimlessly tossed the pictures away from me. All these memories made me dizzy. My legs were numb. God knows how long I was sitting there. A state of stupor overcame me and I lay down on the cold, hardwood floor. Once again there was darkness. The echoing of the dripping tap jolted me awake. I noticed the minimal light that entered from the windows as the last hues of the setting sun mellowed my rage. I had bathed myself to revive my inner being and to clear my head. As I headed towards the lounge room, my gaze fell on two photographs, side by side. I picked them up and tears welled up in my eyes from what I saw. Although the two photos had different couples they both depicted the same thing: A drunken father, a traumatised son, and a lonely wife. The smiles were a mere mask to conceal the truth. How had I not realised what I had done? What I had become? I was just like him. Like my father! I gave Chris the very same treatment that I had despised as a child. I knew what I had to do now. To make it up to them was going to be a challenge…But it had to be done. I was truly sorry and they had to
this book faced, I was able to speak for the first time on the pain
Writing has always played a huge role in my life. I’ve been reading writing for as long as I can remember as I have an immense love of reading. This love would grow into a love for writing as well; I still stumble upon journals and writings from my five-year-old self about the happenings in my kindergarten class. As time would go on I would discover academic writing, and how to convey my thoughts on what was the topic of student that particular year or semester in my schooling. Later, writing would become a constant for me, and a comfort; I was known to my friends as always having a journal, and a pen on my person. I learned to write down my feelings and my thoughts, song lyrics that were in my head, reflections for the day. I learned how
I got home and my niece wouldn’t look at me. She locked herself in her room and cried for hours. I could hear her through the walls like a ghost wailing at her murderer. As I lay in bed with my sister sleeping in the room adjacent to me, I thought of how my niece must feel. I knew that she knew. It was all for the best though. I had to keep telling myself.
I enjoyed my experience writing fiction because I got to write a weird story that I liked. Writing fiction allowed me to introduce to others an unusual situation with characters that say silly things. It was rewarding for me to see that people found my story fun.