A semester has passed since I started college and my journey of becoming a better writer. It has been a very important semester for my future college career, and I would not be here without the things I have accomplished. The composition program has really helped me to prepare for what college writing is all about. Now standing here and looking back I could not imagine how it would be without that class. I believe my English, and my writing is better than it has ever been, and all thanks to the composition program.
In Shannon Nichols’ “Proficiency”, she bout her dislikes writing due to her experiences. While I was growing up, I never knew I would not like writing. People remind me of how I had great handwriting and loved to write stories. In college, I continue to struggle in writing essays and it is a challenge for me. Although Shannon Nichols and I despise writing growing up, we both have grown to become successful writers.
Laurel nodded her head when she heard that Zinda would be willing to aid her in her efforts of keeping the city running smoothly. “With that attitude I think Ryder will love you.” She stated with a small laugh, her head shook from side to side. “Even before the outbreak I always had a hard time sleeping.” She reached her right hand up and placed it against the back of her neck, rubbing at it. “So it really doesn’t bother me all that much.” She nodded her head. She knew what Zinda said was true, that she should try and sleep more but that seemed easier said than done. She really tried to sleep at night sleep just seemed to elude her, it was never there when she really need it. Like the night they got back from the Farmhouse, all she wanted to do was fall asleep and forget the whole events that had taken place there. Sadly that didn’t happen, she stayed up all night thinking about how she could have done thing differently, that she should have stayed with Kate.
If he had been human, everything would have been easier. Hal's life would have been so much better; he wouldn't have been forced to fight, or be controlled by the code in his head. He would have grown into a different, maybe better person. But then, they would still be stuck in the compound, still there when the bots had malfunctioned, and they may have not even escaped. Perhaps they would have died an untimely death and not have escaped into the wastes and would be left to rot in the desecrated compound, forgotten, and the only sign they were there were their desecrated skeletons, and even those would be ground away by the sands of time until they eventually became nothing. It was a pity that they would meet that fate regardless; Dirk would
It was dark when I arrived at the village. People were going about their nightly chores before they retired for the night. They quickly escorted me to the wigwam of a woman who was in labour.
Guido couldn’t believe he was home alone after he arrived from middle school. Mom was usually standing in the kitchen, making him a delicious snack consisting of fruits and sandwiches, smiling brightly as she graciously served him, knowing full well that he was tired from a hard day of learning.
Originally I hated having to read and write, it was a horrendous repeated process that I was forced to uptake everyday of my academic life. All up until my dad started playing audio books in the car on the way to school. Now I can thank my dad for encouraging my sister and me to read, because without his guidance I would still hate reading and writing.
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
Have you ever been given an assignment where you say to yourself, “how the heck am I going to do this?” or maybe, “what am I supposed to write about?” Well that’s exactly how I felt, thought, and did with this writing journey. Coming up with something to say about my writing journey has been difficult. I would be bold enough to say nearly impossible. So impossible it’s like trying to get a camel through the eye of a needle. Okay that might be an exaggeration, but it has been difficult. The idea that I have a writing journey I understand. But thinking of an event or something that has made my writing the way it is has been difficult. So, what I’ve decided to do then is to write about my writing journey writing this paper.
My journey through reading and writing started once I started school. I don’t remember the early years but they laid down a foundation for me. It got me to where I am today. I love reading for pleasure but I want to be more open to different types of genres. I’m not the best writer but I try my best to write well. I have a strong approach to writing an essay but when it comes to actually writing, I don’t feel too confident. I hope that this year will help me become a better reader and writer.
James grabbed after her, but she all but melted away down the stairs, running for all she was worth. Which, as it turned out, was quite a bit. Gabby was damaged, and terribly so, but she was desperate to preserve whatever was left of herself. James stepped into the basement, looking at her as she held the bottle. Flashes of memory, a bathroom, a phone, a threat oh so like this. But he had little doubt that this was going to end very differently. He weighed his options. If he let Gabby go, she'd essentially kill them all. he had no doubt what his fate would be. What Callie's fate would be. He wouldn't let it happen. He loved his daughter, but he couldn't let her destroy them. Closing his eyes, feeling tears start to form at what was about to
Writing is important for the learners of any kind of language. People have different opinions about writing. Some people like writing whereas some don’t like. For me, I love and enjoy writing even though I am not a good writer. I love writing because of some reason such as writing improve our skills, helps to correct our errors and helps to identify our weakness or strength about writing.
Coming from a completely a completely different side of the world where a completely different language is spoken, distinct cultural norms exist, I had to relearn what I previously knew so well. I would like to think of my writing journey as being divided into three stages of school, Elementary, Middle, and Highschool. Each stage equally important in bringing out my faults and mistakes in understanding the English language and ultimately leading me to unlock my full potential as a writer.
Direct, to the point, back the thesis up with concrete example and reasoning, end the essay leaving nothing to sparse – that is a plainly how I approach my writing world. English course, along with the unique method of addressing a subject, encouraged by my grandfather, have changed me positively as a writer. Though I always have an interest in the art of literature, but in general, it takes time for me to successfully express my opinion clearly and efficiently.
Writing has always been something I dread. It’s weird because I love talking and telling stories, but the moment I have to write it all down on paper, I become frantic. It’s almost as if a horse race just begun in my mind, with hundreds of horses, or words, running through my mind, unable to place them in chronological order. Because I struggle to form satisfying sentence structure, it takes me hours, sometimes even days, to write one paper. It’s not that I think I’m a “bad writer,” I just get discouraged easily. Needless to say, I don’t think highly of my writing skills. When I was little I loved to both read and write. I read just about any book I could get my hands on, and my journal was my go to for my daily adventures. Although it’s