Personal Narrative: My Fear Of Writing

I don’t really like writing because whenever my teacher tells me to write about something I start to get confused on what to say then I start to get mad at myself and start to cry.The best thing I have ever written is when I had to wrote about legos, it was a nine pages and alot idioms and more.

With the given introduction assignment, it has brought to my attention my love hate relationship with writing. I find that in the past, writing has made me feel vulnerable in a way that not much else has. The idea that anyone could read the words I had carefully placed for a grade or judgment quite honestly scares me. Granted it depends on the circumstance surrounding the said writing, for example, in my junior year AP Language class every friday we were given 20 minutes out of class to write or draw anything we desired. This free writing period would soon become the highlight of my week. I had developed a system to get my thoughts onto paper without anyone being able to stumble upon them by accident or by a snooping younger sibling. My method

My earliest experience with writing was my learning period that formed not only my style of writing but how I studied and the ability to apply words and concepts into a structured format. The process at first was difficult because it was my first time being exposed to structured writing which caused me to put it off until the last minute or lose interest in the topic I was writing about. The rowdy classroom was eager to release near the end of the day, but we knew we had to face one of the more uninteresting subjects of the day: middle school English.The teacher thoroughly explained our assignment which made each one of us cringe. The class finally initiated work mode and I was clueless. I would start to make progress but would be constantly

Ever since I can remember I have always struggled with writing. I believe that Spanish

I have never been much of a writer, but I can’t say I completely hate it. For as long as I can remember, I was always one of the kids that would sigh when a teacher assigned an essay for the class. One reason for having a dislike towards writing was because it takes a lot of thought and time to even think of how to begin. However, as I grew older, I came to the conclusion that writing isn’t all that bad. I actually found writing quite interesting when I get the chance to write about something that I strongly care about. So writing to me is bittersweet, depending on if it’s something that interests me or not.

My relationship with writing has varied throughout my life. As a young child, I found that though the process of writing came easily once I started, I dreaded the preparation. However, whenever someone asked me if I enjoyed writing, my answer was always yes. I spent time in elementary school writing on my own; I found it to be a great creative outlet as well as a stress reliever. I know, you’re probably wondering how much stress could I have had at seven or eight years old. You’d be surprised. Anyway, that’s not the point of this letter.

My struggles began my first academic year in the fall of 2014. The course I enrolled in was a seminar course, that was led by an adjunct professor. Problems surfaced when the professor actions were less than professional on more than one occasion. On one event, she separated the immigrant/ minorities students from the rest of the class, to discuss our shortcoming as writers. We were informed that our poor writing was affecting us in class and in our practicum placement. The line of questioning and statements made by the professor was inappropriate as they concern our cultural background and our time in the country. Attempting to advocate for myself, the professor was notified that the issue had not been brought to my attention by my field instructor and my grade in the class did not reflect such statements.

When looking back at my writing experiences, it reminds me that writing is not my area of expertise. Where writing may come easy for some students, it takes me longer to put my thoughts together. I am basically scared to write because I am lost at where to even begin.

Ever since I was a child, I have always had the inclination to pick up a crayon rather than a pencil. From learning how to write my ABC’s to dreading over typing eight page papers, learning how to progressively read and write has manifested into a rollercoaster within my life, emotionally, that is. But don’t get me wrong, writing has slowly inched its way into my being and will continue to stay for my journey through academia. I honestly feel that there’s some sort of creature within my mind that prevents me from deriving happiness from english-related material. Though in the midst of all the chaos, I have developed an alternate outlet to express myself. An outlet where I wouldn’t have to think about forming sentences or using words that I don’t know but use anyway. An outlet in which I find solace and truly shows who I am as a person. The outlet of art.

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

The sound of Carmine’s snoring from across the hall forces its way through my closed door and into my room. It wakes me before my alarm this morning. I’m not sure what time he came in last night, but I must have been in a deep sleep. Slowly, I go through the motions of my morning routine. Taking care not to wake Carmine, I finish getting ready and leave him a note to tell him I’ll be at the library all day. Just as I finish checking my assignments and pack my book bag for the library, I hear my phone ping with a new text message.

Maybe you are a writer who is scared to let others know what you write about, like I was. Maybe you think they will judge you, and they may. If you are like me then you know what it feels like to get a sudden urge to write where you have to pour out your heart and soul. I'm talking about those urges that just don't make any sense where you can't sleep because these wonderful thoughts keep flooding your brain. Maybe you can't wait to get home so like me you carry a writing pad with you just incase you get inspired. I now realize that these strong desires for me to write, it's not for me but for others. In the past I was afraid of sharing my thoughts with others, but one day I realized, my thoughts can help others as well. Fear is crazy, it has

I am finding that I have more skill at writing than I had realized. Considering I have always felt that I am terrible at portraying myself and what is in my head, this has come as quite the pleasing surprise. Maybe it is the fact that this is my third attempt at Composition, maybe it’s just growth in general. Either way I am adapting and seeing the possibilities of what my skills may become.

Who am I and why did I start writing? Both valid questions that I have recently been asked and both questions I am not entirely sure how to answer. I am a young woman with a passion for words. I am a sister, a daughter, an aunt, and a friend with endless amounts of love and laughter to share. I am emotional, intuitive and caring. I am a believer, a fighter and a lover. I am a lot of things, all of which contradict each other, yet complement each other. As for why I started writing, that's simpler to answer. Ever since I was a little girl I have always loved to read - it was always an escape. Through my parents' treacherous and painful separation, my sister leaving, bullies in school, and all the other horrors, books were always there to provide

It is always complicated writing and expressing in a language that is different from mine. I most of the time have an idea that I want to write about, but I know the difficulties that I am going to face while writing such as having mistakes in grammar structures, or maybe not knowing how to basically order my idea in the right way to let the reader grasp it easily.