Personal Narrative: Electronic Free

After Dallas had convinced everyone else that going to the bar and getting shit-faced was a good idea. She was forced to go as well. Seeing as how she was practically their baby sitters. Darry stayed behind with Johnny and Pony, not wanting them to go. While she was stuck with Dally, Steve, Two-Bit, and Soda. And she as the designated driver. They all looked old enough to be drinking, even though they weren't, so they got to go into the bar.

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

You seemed as if you left out of your 4th block Spanish from those rusty gray doors on the side of our school building.

That moment, thirteen years ago, was the moment that changed everything. I was young, at only 22 years old, and filled with excitement for the new job that began only one week prior. The typical first day jitters were beginning to settle, though I still felt new and quite anxious. My desire to fit in, make new friends, and to impress my peers radiated through me. I was on a mission to excel in my new role. Little did I know, when I began that day, my naive self would be in for a rude awakening. I would soon be discriminated against.

Since elementary school I have exhibited a talent for writing. What started out as mere ten page stories about cats hunting mice or Greek Gods turning people into blob fish expanded into publishing a four hundred page long summer camp murder mystery as an eBook with my friend Henry in eighth grade. Over the years I have become more passionate about my writing, and over the years my grammar and writing style have grown tremendously. Looking back at the book I helped write in eighth grade I can’t help but cringe at the mistakes we missed and dull language we used. If I had written the eBook at the level I am now it would have been much longer, extremely detailed, and correct grammar wise. I realize the story could be leagues better, so I’m currently

“Casey, your group needs to do the stunt one more time!” coach said imprudently. It happened March 26, 2015; it was at the end of a two hour practice. During the summer months in South Georgia, it is utterly hot and humid, especially in our cheer gym (a warehouse with no air conditioner); it only has two heavy-duty fans and a roll-up door. With this in mind, my group became slightly irritated. Everyone was exhausted; nevertheless we still had to do the stunt anyway.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

It all began with a simple phone call one night after dinner. “Quavo,” my father hollered up the stairs, “Takeoff is ringing your line and it’s urgent.” As I came down the stairs to pick up my cell phone, I was not happy. I was tired and had looked forward to a nice, quiet evening at home visiting with my father at his house, not another trap run with Takeoff. Thirty minutes later, however, Takeoff’s Rolls Royce Phantom whipped into our driveway, and Takeoff was leaning on the horn before the car came to a full stop. Grabbing my coat from the couch, I walked out of my front door in my with all the enthusiasm of a white boy walking onto gang territory.

I like the method freewriting, because before I gather ideas in my brain, and as soon as the ideas start flowing, I put them on paper. When using the freewriting method, I forget all of the rules concerning order, grammar, punctuation or spelling. When is finished, then, I go back to the page, I read it slowly and underline all of the main

You could hear the crowd cheering, the coach screaming for a play to be made. Each player on the court running low on breath as the games clock was coming to an end. The score was 37 to 35 the home team was going to lose but they had the ball in their hands with only one shot left. The ball went hard into Sean’s hand as he realised that he was open on the 3 point line, this was his chance to win his team the game, to bring home the win. Sean took the shot and as the shot went up the horn blew as the timer finished. It was over, the home team had lost and with it Sean’s dream of basketball.

Immediately following Saturday’s online class, if asked whether I would change the way in which I search for information or not, I would have said perhaps a little. This is because I did not fully understand the concepts being shown. Both Kristy and Dr. Fagerman demonstrated numerous techniques during the day’s presentation; showing students, including myself, how to search the databases to either narrow or widen our results, making it much quicker to find relevant data. Since that time, I’ve read through all of the handouts and practiced using these ideas with improved success. Logging into the FLITE library and practicing has helped return better information and much quicker than I was able to originally. One particular group during the

A young me sits on my older brother's bed. I had been waiting after what was most likely hours of pleading to start one of my favorite activities. I wanted to listen to a record, but not just any record. An old 45 Superman record. With curious eyes I watched my father place the ancient relic on the turntable and I begin to hear the strange music and the announcer's deep articulate voice. The dark room provided an almost cinematic experience. Whether I more interested in the story or the strange alien technology the story came from was herd to tell. Being born into the age of CDs I was not familiar with vinyl and was never permitted to touch record nor record player. This restricted pleasure made listening feel like an event and ultimately amplified

After the slow dawdle like walk up to “The Site”, with the slight trickle of the fresh mountain stream in the background. All I want is sleep, picturing my bright yellow hammock enveloped by a semi transparent school provided tarp. Soon enough, I am greeted by “The Site” only told to stay within the gully. I start with a little scan of the landscape, trying to find the perfect spot for my hammock to lay between two coniferous trees. No, no, no, after 20 minutes of scanning the landscape I find the perfect spot.

For as long as I can remember, my dad has always corrected my grammar and manners. As a lawyer, he writes and reviews thousands of legal documents, which has sharpened his writing skills tremendously. With these skills comes a grammar geek who loves correcting people. Looking back at all the times my dad has reminded me of a certain rule, a particular occasion always comes to mind. This moment took place at my kitchen counter in Illinois when I was a Freshman in High School. It was a late weekday night in the Kennedy household and all five of us were awake as ever. My brother was in the basement, my sister was upstairs doing homework and skyping her friends, and my parents and I were in the kitchen. More specifically, my mom was making

“I will allow you to go to over Mackenzie’s sleepover as long as you promise to watch PG-13 or younger”, my mom yell up the base of the stairs from the kitchen.