My Writing Story At The Young Age Of Eight

However, most of the time I will despise writing and try to avoid it as much as possible. The reason I do not like writing is, because I frequently have so much to say and I cannot grasp a way to organize everything. When I write for enjoyment I will mainly write about the thoughts in my head and nonchalantly caring if it makes sense or not. It’s like the difference between a doodle and a drawing. A doodle is just a “whatever” picture. It is just randomly drawn and it won’t matter if the lines are straight or not. In a drawing everything has to be perfect and neat. I enjoy to “doodle” write and just write my thoughts out about anything, I am afraid to publicly say. I’ve been taught to write by having teachers just tell me what they want me to write. The part about me learning to write I kind of have taught myself using some of the knowledge that previous teachers have given me. Not only, but I also, face several challenges as a writer like the lack of creativity and writing descriptively. When I write, I like to just state my point or main idea, but I struggle with describing it in depth and explaining my main idea as specific as possible. Some writers make a drama and explain everything so clearly and their emotions, however I am not that type of

I 've always liked writing. Even before I knew how to write I would make up stories and pretend to write them down. Each year in high school I 've written a multitude of essays on varying topics. I have selected three of these writings from each of my years in high school to examine as part of this rhetorical analysis of my writing history. As I 've grown older, my writing style has changed and I 've learned more about the world and developed my own personal writing voice more and more.

My first interaction with literacy began with a piece of chalk and the sidewalk. Drawing and writing quick quips with my friends allowed me to develop a friendly relationship with words, word play and the the classic” roses are red, violets are blue” stanza structure. When it grew cold outside and the snow covered the streets, indoor games reigned supreme. The alphabet game inspired competition amongst the kids and cheating using the knowledge of the adults around us. Writing at the age of nine encompassed my world and my password journal housed all of my stories both real and fake. I wrote about my day, my family, my problems, my insecurities, my imaginary friends, made up worlds, and everything else that came to my mind. Writing in my journal became almost therapeutic, it provided me with a best friend that I could confine in without the fear of judgment or rejection. Keeping my journal to myself allowed me to create my own world that I was able to escape into at whim. This idea of privacy within literacy remained close within me, until one day I lost my journal in church. When the next Sunday came and it was time to claim my journal, I realized that though no one knew whose journal it was, everyone knew what was in the journal. Horrified, I left my journal unclaimed and began my distrustful relationship with writing. Though I

Every person is uniquely different than another individual and this even includes their type of writing style. Now this leads me into my story of a girl who use to struggle with reading and writing. She is uniquely different than the rest and has gone on a great journey to where she is today. By looking at her today you may not know that in grade school she was in Title 1 to assist her with reading and writing. Allison Gion joined Speech and this helped her immensely. Her writing is very creative and she definitely likes to tell original stories to many.

As long as I can remember, writing has always played a major part in my life. In the eighth grade at North Middle School I had Mrs. Parent as an English teacher. Not only did she have beautiful handwriting, which inspired me to mimic her writing style, but she had a natural love for teaching and assuring that I wrote about what came natural to me. When I got to Lima Senior High School, I was placed in accelerated English with Mrs. Stepleton. Although she didn’t have the best handwriting, she pushed me with every assignment. We read: A Tale of Two Cites, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, and the Catcher and the Rye. All of which are voted on every top 100 best novel list I have ever seen. Not only did she push me to read these

Well in seventh grade was a little hectic for me but I got through it. Emily hadn't moved yet. I mostly hung out with Mikayla, Emily, and who ever stood by the library. I didn't really get the hang out high school til around ninth grade. I don't really even remember most of my classes before ninth grade. I remember sitting by the library in any weather unless the teachers made us go inside the building. Our whole group stood there, there was some I hadn't really talked to yet but I soon became friends with everyone over there. Most of the people I met when I first came to Junior high are now graduated. Ninth grade started Emily had moved. I still hung out with Mikayla though. Then my brother introduced me to this girl named Brianna we hung

Throughout younger years I marveled at my older brothers more than anyone, always admiring their courageous confidence and not to mention, sense of adventure. Yet, I found myself envious of the countless obstacles they had overcome that I had not, especially when it came to riding our bikes. Being the youngest didn’t help any either, I was constantly competing with them and demanding to have the upper hand. For some reason, though, it seemed impossible.

My most difficult situation was when we found out about my eyes when I was in the third grade. It all started when I was having trouble seeing the text books, the stuff on the boards, and my grades started to go down because of me losing my vision. When you are in the third grade and you are eight or nine years old, it’s hard to accept the fact you won’t be the same as your friends and that you can’t do the things you want.

My earliest memories of writing and being read to are in elementary. Growing up in my household they only spoke Spanish to me. Even though my mother knew how to speak English, traditionally she taught me Spanish. Therefore, when I began school I did not know English, so I had to be put in English for Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL). As I began to learn more English, my mother began to primarily speak to me in that language. Some of the experiences I can recall are being helped to pronounce words and taking numerous reading tests. My experiences of writing and reading were mostly positive. By the first grade I was a level four in ESOL! Since I was able to learn English so quickly, I felt there was no reason to speak Spanish. As a result,

Being a student and employee I mainly use writing for essays, papers, proposals, and reports. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned to articulate my writing in different ways. When writing to express myself, I usually write songs and poetry. I enjoy using writing to inspire others, for word art, and writing about past trips and experiences.

Writing is my aesthetic; Tis a way of speaking without speaking. In our world, much of us have little to almost nothing to say.When given a piece of paper and a pen, we tend to become different people with authoritative voices desperately seeking for a listener.The diffident person seen on a daily basis may turn into a bold voice with great gallantry-a voice of power (TASS #6).Words are also an escape from the worries and the madness of the world. Today, many people are in a rush to do things. Little is there ever time to stop and ponder powerful philosophies. Living in a loud, busy world, sometimes writing is a haven of quiet and peace to me. Senses of solitude and relief are often felt when my words are expressed in secrecy. My journal is

There he was, standing in the backyard of his childhood home. The visitor stood anxiously as if he didn't know where to start looking. He made his way toward the garage in the far corner of the yard. He put his hands on the handle of the door and opened it, slowly. He leaned into the garage as if someone or something was going to get him if he walked all the way in. The stranger finally got the courage to step all the way in, he even shut the door behind him. As he expected, nothing was the same as when he was a child. He began to talk to himself saying, “Momma always sent us here when Daddy got upset. She said if Daddy ever came in here, to hide. I was only trying to give him a hug and make him feel better, but Daddy pushed me into the

There is no limiting in how you should write it, what you can write it or when you should write it. Writing is freedom. It could be about the beauty, the nature, your passion, your past love, or anything. Writing has no barriers, it is limitless. When you try to write, you are paralyzed. That is because you are in your own thought, your own world. As you begin that thought process you are out of this planet. You will see stars, galaxies, dust clouds, shining lights everywhere.. even a dangerous space-time black hole. Everything is on the tip of your hands. You suddenly become a controller of the universe. That is the art of writing. It is truly addicted if you would try it. And when you have tried it, there is no turning back. You are stuck in that maze, looping around and around. That is why I write. Because I am addicted with it, love with it. I would like to present my writings with this portfolio. With this portfolio, my intention is to provide my love of the nature, my will, my love, and the environment which I lived in. So I included two of my essay writings, and three of my journal writings as an example of my writing.

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

I am going to begin my life story between the ages of 5 and 8. I remember this being a genuinely positive time for me. Nothing traumatic seemed to happen. My family all got along really well, and we were happy. I was involved in lots of musical things such as piano lessons, plays, and the Rialto children’s choir. Everything was going well for me, and I wanted nothing to change. Of course, avoiding change is impossible. When I was 7 years old, my Mom gave birth to my youngest brother Eddie. When I first found out I was terrified, no one, not even me knew why. I just had this sudden fear my mother was going to die. But after he was born I was ecstatic, and those fears faded into something of the past. Little did we know that was just the beginning of a much larger problem. But that didn’t arise for about another year. So until then things just kept going as normal, My parents, brothers and I, all living happy semi-normal lives.