Ms. Blackmore: A Short Story

There, glaring up at me in bold, red ink against the crisp white paper was a C- . Comparing my grades to those of my classmates, it was revealed that they too had received these grades. What had we done wrong?

It was not until I reached kindergarten where I first learned how to write. Having parents that were not fluent in English and worked almost all day, I found school being the gateway to my academic success. Learning how to trace letters were the first steps to my literacy journey. Every morning, I would sit in my assigned seat where I had my very own box that contained my crayons. My first task was to trace my name on the paper with crayons, something that every kindergartner is anticipated to fulfill. I remember having so most trouble, everyone has trouble from time to time, but in my case it was all the time. Once the bell rang for recess, all the kids ran right past me to go play outside once they finished writing their name successfully. I was always the last one to go and my teacher, Mrs. Ross, would have to slowly spend more time with me, holding my hand and tracing my name so I could get the hang of it. I did not have the same help at home as I did in school. Unfortunately, my parents could not help me with any of my school work; I either had to be self taught or I had to turn to my teacher for assistance. “The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me.” (Hellen Keller) I can relate to this quote because my kindergarten teacher was someone who inspired and motivated me to go past all odds. Like Hellen Keller, meeting Mrs.

At first this seemed to be easy but I later began to notice the assignment might become boring to some reader’s. After finishing the assignment I felt good with the outcome but knew that I could have written a better paper. This was obvious after the instructor reviewed the assignment and gave me a grade that hit hard. This showed me first hand that I was a good writer but was far from being prefect. After picking myself up, I reviewed the notes she provided and made the suggested changes. I then resubmitted the assignment in hopes the changes were correct and I would get a final grade that I knew I was capable of earning. After waiting the final grade was submitted and I had earned a grade I knew I could earn. I know that without the help of my peers and the instructor this would have not been

When classes first began in August, Professor Birnbaum informed our class about the four essays in which we would write throughout the course and be graded on strictly. In addition, we would also get into small groups weekly to gather ideas and improve our paper. Nevertheless, the first essay began. We were told as a class to write an essay on a personal experience in which meant greatly to us, so I wrote about a speech I gave in front of 700 people. I spent less than three days working on the essay with only one revision. In result, I received an outstanding grade of a 93, boosting my confidence in Professor Birnbaum’s class greatly. She commented on the paper that I needed to work on my verb tense, sentence structure, and mechanics that distract readers through the paper. In addition, she also let the entire class know that she would not be lenient in the next three papers and

Middle school was a prime time for teachers assigning papers. I wouldn’t even be able to count the number of papers I was forced to write during my time in middle school. Most people look back at their middle school years and remember all the crazy antics that come with being a middle school aged kid; not me. My memories of middle school are overshadowed by memories of long nights sitting at my dining room table agonizing over a book report to about The Giver, a paper about Auschwitz, and a biography I had to write about my sixth grade teacher – just to name a few. These may not seem like such a big deal to some people, but for me they were some of the most difficult assignments.

I could hear her shrill voice getting closer as she talked to my friend about her paper. Then, it was my turn, I started to panic inside as she walked up to my desk paper in hand. Mrs. Grimes handed the paper back to me with a smile and said “good job on the paper, it was very disturbing!” I replied with a stunned “Thank you Mrs. Grimes.” I am scared to look at my grade, Mrs. Grimes had liked it! Does that mean I am finally going to get a good grade on a paper in her class? Slowly, I gathered up enough courage to look at my grade. I looked down at my paper and I could not believe my

My most memorable writing experience was in my senior year of high school. We were given free range to write about any subject (if it was school appropriate), so I decided to write on the history of rap music. Now up until this paper I had never made an A on my papers. I had one C paper and usually could not make above a B. I was passionate about this subject though, I love history and old school rap music. I poured my heart, tons of facts, and history into this paper. I felt like I went beyond what was required of me with this paper. I was nervous as all get out. Here it is the day we get our final papers back and……… An A+. I was astonished, I cried. The teacher told me that it was very informative and

He would come dressed like some of the characters from the novels we would read and would sing really bad if he thought he was losing our attention, he was also the first to teacher to give me my first F. “How did I fail, I’m good at this, what did I do wrong?” I thought to myself as I examined the red marks all over my paper. I assumed this was just the first class to challenge my reading and writing skills; surely, I’ll do better the next time. Although I was confident in my reading and writing capabilities, I still couldn’t show my parents this, I figured it was a freak incident and it wouldn’t happen

Writing is often considered mundane and banal to some students. In fact, people have even written things down since the beginning of time. I dreaded writing until I had Mrs. Dunlap for 4th block English during my 8th grade year at Mount Juliet Middle. This is the story about how she made me the writer I am today with what I like to call ‘Write’speration.

After a grueling first quarter, I was completely miserable, with terrible grades, low self-esteem, and no end in sight. I was hanging on to the hope that there would be some epiphany moment, a moment where suddenly my writing soared, along with my grades. That change did happen, but not all at once‒ it began during the third quarter, when my teacher, Ms. Boynton, asked me to stay after class, along with five other students. She asked if we would each be interested in participating in The Atlantic and College Board Essay Contest, in which we would each submit an analysis of a famous American speech. I was truly stunned that she had chosen me over so many other students in the class, since I had felt so lost for so many weeks, but it was exactly what I needed as motivation to keep on improving my writing. As I worked closely with her on my contest submission and other class work, I came to realize how much she cared about me and wanted to help me succeed. With that being said, she never made it easy; she continually pushed me, knowing that I could always do better if I set my mind to it. Last September, I began her demanding course with the intention of purely surviving, not necessarily thriving, but that

A few months ago I found out about Oskar’s plan. I first received a call from a woman named Abby Black who wanted to talk to him. He wasn’t home at that time, so she explained to me what had happened. Apparently, he visited her not so long ago looking for answers for a key he found inside a vase in his father’s closet. I didn’t know what to believe, so I went to his room looking for evidence. He’s a smart kid and hiding secrets has always been one of his specialties. I looked everywhere, but couldn’t find anything until I opened one of his top closet doors. I was surprised with what I discovered. Everything was there, the 472 “Black” names listed in chronological order starting from Aaron Black; a map with their location and a notebook with the time and years it would take him to meet them all.

Sadness, desperation, and the thought of failure plagued my brain as I went into my second day of Sophomore year in high school. I had grown to dislike school a lot as it felt like all the fun I used to have was slowing diminishing into nothing. As I walked to my next class, I looked down to make sure I had the right room number. I did, it was time for English which I was not looking forward to. But, to my surprise, this English class would change everything

Before this class I had no background knowledge as to what this class would contain or how well I would do in it. I was very nervous about this paper because I am not a very good writer and I still am not the best but, I feel as if I got great help from Mr. B and I am growing in writing slowly. The expectations I had for this paper were that I was going to fail because I was not a good writer and I wasn’t going to be able to grow. I also expected it to be very hard for me to chose a topic because I had never written in a discipline. My paper did not turn out as bad as I thought it was going to. From this experience not only did I learn about Sexting and its topics included in my paper but, I also learned about APA formatting and how to use

One of the high points of the class was consistently making high A’s. We wrote a variety of different types of papers, and my grade was always respectable. Succeeding in this class made me feel adequately prepared to write proper papers. Although I made impressive grades for the class, I was able to do so with only minimal effort. Therefore, I knew I could execute my papers better. The quality of my writing seemed to stay stagnant over the course of the year. This class would have been exponentially more beneficial had it challenged me to improve my writing, however it never did.

It was seventh grade, and I was tired of imperfect grades. Now, my grades weren’t bad, all A’s and none below a ninety two, but to me that wasn’t good enough. Every time I heard a person say they had a grade higher than me; someone saying they got a ninety seven when I got a ninety six; I’d wince and cringe. I knew subconsciously that my grade was just fine, but inside I felt inferior. All my life I’d always been told to do my best, to put my everything into all the things I did, and to always strive to be the greatest. But here I was with a ninety six when I could’ve gotten a ninety seven. I could have had the best grade in the class, a grade without flaw, a perfect grade better than everyone else’s… So one day I decided that was what I wanted. I went home and I spent the whole day on my homework, outlining all of the artwork with ink, double checking all of my math homework, proofreading every single word of my writing homework, and wiping away every single mistake I could find. And then the next day I went into school, I turned in my homework, and I got all one hundreds. I finally felt worth something, like I had actually succeeded and done well for the first time in my life. And it was then, in this rush of sudden ecstasy, that I decided the only way to be happy was to always try my best. To always put my all into everything I do and eliminate every mistake I can find. So the next day I did the same thing, and then the day after, and the day after that, everyday coming home and diving into my homework, only breaking to eat or go to my