Personal Narrative: A Career In Creative Writing

When the class sang songs about happiness and games her lips barely moved.” Margot ignored the other children, the only time she participated was when an activity mentioned the sun. Margot keeps herself apart from the rest of the class while she talks about experiences with the sun, when that is what the kids want the most. Although Margot’s classmates hurt her because of their jealousy, Margot was also partly to blame for since she keeps mentioning something that her classmates has always wanted.

This year is the final year of my career as a Tennessee school student. This is my senior year at Mount Juliet High School, and the only thing that’s different from the other years is one teacher, Ms. Best. I am a senior in her 4th block creative writing class and for once I’m being challenged. I have always been a good student, made all A’s, played soccer, played in the Orchestra, but I never had a challenge like the ones she places in front of me. Not only does she challenge me, but she works with me to change my writing for the better, because I’ve always secretly adored writing. I like to write short stories and tales of whimsy, and Ms. Best works to make those skills I harbor flourish onto the pages I write. I feel as if I’m the wild

I learned to write through a variety of different influences. It’s always been something I’ve enjoyed and I’ve been trying to better myself at it since as long ago as I can remember. I’ve always loved learning, and it was back in the summer of 3rd grade that I bought my first few “workbooks”. These workbooks had everything an eager young learner could imagine: math, language arts, science, history, and, of course, writing. I particularly remember enjoying the writing prompts as they allowed me to stretch my creativity and gave me a feeling of accomplishment. From that summer on I continued buying workbooks to strengthen my knowledge, always making sure to challenge myself and buy the “5th grade” ones in 4th grade. I stopped doing those workbooks

I know the feeling all too well of how life seems to move too fast. When I was in High School, I spent most of my summers at writing camps, and internships. By the time I knew it my senior year was beginning. It was the time for me to apply for the serious scholarships that would get me into prestigious colleges. So for me this was an opportunity I could not screw up, but in the back of my mind I knew I would never be a senior in high school again. The idea of all this troubled me for the beginning of my senior year.  When the submission date of my scholarships came near, the stress was eating me alive. So with most issues people try to face themselves, most end up asking someone they trust. The person I trusted the most was my mentor, and Father. Who

Here I am now! Still writing about what I feel, think and dream about, not only does it make me feel fulfilled inside I love to revise what I read, which broaden my perspective of what I could not see before regarding certain situation in my personal life plus more skills to write. Most of the time before I lie down to sleep, I write at least one to two pages, or sometimes when I arise in the morning. Writing helps me cope with all parts of life it’s my very own private cushion to my universe. My urge for writing will always be here until God says otherwise. Now, when it comes to reading the only problem, I have is it’s a sleeping pills that puts me to sleep without the dose; I read myself to sleep all the time. Reading teach me to explore

I immediately went to my professor’s office hours to get advice on how I could perform better on my next paper, she told me to be more concise and I should use the resource “writer’s help”. Being the Stubborn teenager I am, I only focused on being more concise, but completely ignored reviewing writers help, hence my next grade was a seventy-nine percent. Though I was disappointed with the grade I received, I could only be disappointed with myself because I did not take the advice my teacher recommend to me. Determined to do better on my last paper, I finally read over “writers help”. I must admit, using Writers help was one of the smartest decisions I have ever made. The program taught me how to properly form a thesis, how to be concise and

There are writers and there are readers, I prefer to be placed in the categories of a reader. I will love to be called a writer, but I have a lot of complications when it comes to writing. For a starter I am not excellent at spelling so I get uncertain about writing. I pass my high school writing test with a decent grade, which I believe was a miracle. I may not be firm in writing, but I make sure that I do my best when it's mandatory. I'm not a big fan of writing but I write two to three hundreds words a day through social media. The site that I accomplish the most writing on is Facebook. whenever my friends post a picture or a funny video I intent to comment on it and my friend will response to that comment which will resolve in comments

This class kept my fairytale from completely shattering, and there is something about it that sparks a child-like wonder. While English class appeared to cripple my love for reading, my passion for writing had a reawakening. Somewhere along the way I had become less prolific in story writing, but when I joined the class I experienced a revelation of not just story-telling, but poetry and spoken word, free-writes, and the power that came with putting pen to paper. When I enrolled in Creative Writing, I was not sure what to expect. I almost feared that it may take away what remained of my joy for writing, as I had witnessed with my reading. I found instead a class that flourished on kids’ imagination and devotion for writing. While I appreciate what English classes teach and realize they are beneficial for learning, I think some of my past teachers could learn something from the atmosphere that is found in a creative writing classroom. Reading in English classes should mirror writing classes— a balance between structured teaching and a pleasure of

Today, I was given the worst news that I could have possibly been given at the age of 20, I cannot write. The feelings and emotions of disappointment and anger creepered into my head as my boss broke the news to me. While he was informing me of my needless word usage and horrific sentence structure, I thought, “Wow, previously before this very moment I was feeling ecstatic. I had been learning many things, more than I have learned during a week of college, and yet I fell short.” After crucially critiquing my skill level he had advised me to read “the elements of style.” After skimming through the first few pages, I knew that there was hope for me to become a better writer. So, instead of crying my eyes out, I set my goal which is becoming a

There was a girl called Mary is ten years old and she lives in Japan with her mother Jane and father Josh she is an only child.Her parent is usually working at 9pm to 5pm.So she hangs are around with her friends Kate and Rachel .Kate like to sing and dance and Rachel fascinated about boy bands and her favorite female actor Lucky.Mary is so smart she skipped 5th grade. Mary’s school teacher Miss Phillps believe Marry should go to a special school to challenge herself because she is being weighed down by her class.She doesn’t even try in class and she understands all the work before we even explain it and she finds everything to be easy.She can stay in this class but her gift

This has the potential of ruining a young writer’s confidence and putting them off of writing permanently.

It was the first day of school. Children were manhandled out of minivans, walked over precipitous hills, and crossed dangerous streets of monstrous cars wanting a bite out of any child that came its way. All to go to the sprawling, tan building for a full seven and a half hours of learning. Among those children, there was a little girl. Her father urged her into the building, and made the usual remarks of how he’ll see her later, and for her to be a good girl. A teacher took her hand, and guided her to the preschool classroom where she would spend her school year.

She briefly recalls her 21 year-old self and the pressure of being between her own ambitions and that which her parents had hoped for her. Even then, she knew all she wanted to do was write but it wasn’t something her parents were thrilled about. They had experienced poverty and hope that their daughter would

When I was little, I used to love writing. I would write about anything from dragons to adventures in space, and most of the time it wasn’t in any way related to school at all. I used to love writing because I could write about whatever I wanted and had no one to tell me that it was poorly written and no one to give me a bad grade on it. It wasn’t until I started to have to write papers for school that I began to dislike writing. I remember when I was ten, I wrote a story about two dragons fighting off hordes of knights attempting to steal the dragons gold for the corrupt king. No one told me that I had to write a story, I wrote it on my own time over the summer and I loved every minute that I was writing. I wrote almost every day, but now that I started to get bad grades on something that I worked so hard on and being told I was an abysmal writer, it began to discourage me and push me away from the enjoyment I used to have when writing.

I’ve always enjoyed writing. I started to write as early as the third grade, where I would imagine curious stories about my favorite cartoon or video game characters. I fell in love with the fact that whatever I thought of, I could expand upon the thought in an even bigger way than just devising it. I didn’t enjoy reading too much though, I never had the patience to sit down and focus until the sixth grade. So, I always hated the book reports they had us do. Even though, we had to write a whopping two sentences a chapter, I still complained. Back to writing.