Narrative Writing Narrative

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

I never thought that I would be saving someone life from drowning. That was until my friends and I did help someone. Which was something that happened very fast.

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.

Through all of my accomplishments and disappointments, I have always been especially proud of the dedication and passion I have for my personal beliefs and values. If there is no struggle, there is no progress, with drive and a bit of hard work you can move mountains. Based on hard work and success, it goes hand in hand because life is designed to be tough. When I was 14 years old, I realized how important writing is in our everyday life. I realized that writing was something important in my life and it has changed my personal life. In my freshman year in High School during “Career Day,” one of the presenter who was a writer, helped me understand how important writing is.

In this first chapter, Lamott emphasizes the importance of writing within literature of her former students. She tells about how her students enjoy writing and would constantly seek her advice for finding people who would publish their works. In the beginning, Lamott states that she herself loves to write and gives vivid explanations about her own experiences with writing.

Luke put his hand on Mikes shoulder. “Mike I know you don’t believe that bull you’re saying right now.” Toni pleaded with Mike, “You have us so walk away from her.”

Izzi looked around her. Everywhere were colors. The trees with their dark bark and ever changing leaves. The blue of water flowing in a nearby river. The pinks, purples, and oranges of the flowers beneath her feet. She looked down at her feet. And she saw nothing. The wind was all she was. She didn't stand out in the world filled with beauty, all she did was blend in, drifting in the breeze. It made her want to cry. Izzi longed for color. She longed to belong in this world. She wanted it more than anything. She sat in the grass for hours and braided flowers into her colorless hair made of wind. They wouldn't stay in long but she didn't mind, as long as she could have the colors for a moment. Eventually the sun began to set and she headed home.

"Why did you not heal yourself?" he asked, knowing full well that one of the perks for being a witch of the west was that water could heal almost any of her ailments. He was displeased to see that her translucent skin magnified the dark circles under her eyes.

"So you're just going to ignore those feelings so you can continue to date a girl who just uses you to just show

She narrowed her eyes at me as if she didn’t believe my answer. “Remember what I told you the other day, people like him will take advantage of you in the blink of an eye. Watch your back at all times.”

"That's on the third floor," The receptionist nodded politely, "The doctor will be running tests shortly."

I slowly stuck my hand out to him as he curled his fingers around mine, engulfing my smaller hand in his large one. I slowly retracted my hand as he smirked at me,

“Because he will hate me forever and we just started talking again. Mike will not be able to handle this.”

English 2201 helped me discover not only myself as a writer, but allowed me to go more in depth with learning how to write in the field of my intended discipline. This is the first specific English class I have taken that focused on the style of writing I will need to be familiar in the future with. Because of that fact, I defiantly enjoyed this class. I feel like my knowledge and ability to navigate the writing techniques of my major have improved and my in-text citations skills have improved greatly. Overall this course opened my eyes to the many different styles there are in the field of Communications, which is my intended field of study, and how to use these styles correctly and efficiently.

It was just another long and boring day at work. There I was, shuffling three packs of fifty-two card decks. I did that for about ten minutes, and still no casino players showed up to my Black Jack table. I didn’t expect anything else; morning shifts were usually pretty dead. Eventually, people slowly started joining the game and before I knew it, it was 6 p.m. and Karisa was already waiting outside for me. Karisa and I were best friends for ten years since high school and we carpool every night since she works at the daycare centre