Personal Narrative: My Passion For Reading And Writing

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I can write well according to some of my peers; though this could just be from the fact that I seem like the quiet, studious, type who has spent most of her time with the straight "A" nerds who went on to top tier schools such as Stanford. Sometimes I am not too sure of my own writing abilities. On most essays, I get a little bit above average grades and every once in a while I get a few more points than usual. I have noticed that my writing is better when I have to write about a topic I am passionate or know a lot about. The more I have to work with the better. Otherwise, my writing seems poor, forced, and somewhat bland. It usually follows a poor or basic thesis statement and lazy paragraphs. I believe motivation helps me to write better,

My journey with reading has been a series of huge ups and and even larger downs. “Ready to read bud?” my dad said as he pulled out the first book of the spiderwick chronicles. It was the biggest book we’d ever read together, and I was intimidated. My journey with reading has been a series of huge ups and and even larger downs. I feel like the lack of flexibility in our school system is mostly responsible for the huge fall. Before I lost my love for reading I really enjoyed it and had a good time doing it.

The first thing I can remember about my writing was in 8th grade my English teacher inspired me to write. Not only about short stories but about my life if I didn't want to talk about my problems. I remember it so well, I was having a hard time with school and family issues were happening. My grades reflected that writing helped me a lot. I realized what I had to do, writing changed everything opened up more I felt better as a person my writing opened my eyes in a way. I did my work and efficiently. I don't like to read nearly as much as I like to write. I used to write a lot more about things I thought I was pretty good at writing short stories but then I just stopped

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

It was once said that baseball is America’s greatest pastime. It dates all the way back to the 18th century, with a multitude of versions being played. Baseball is a game of intensity, athleticism, skill, and the mind. A lot of people have heard of baseball and have probably watched a game on TV, or at least part of a game. I however, would much rather be playing the game instead of watching it.

Al, Alde, de, shon, deshon, and Al’Deshon my name takes on many forms. Kind of like my writing in a sense. I have never been a strong writing also being the reason, I took this class first semester I think. If I get it out of the way maybe I’ll have an easier chance of reaching the finish line happening to be graduation.

In middle school I became more introverted, like many other kids do, and I started writing again. This time I never shared my writing with anyone. At this point I still didn't write a lot, mostly because I was lazy and didn't really care about school. I just doodled a lot and read books. When I read all these amazing fiction books I wanted to write but I could never find any motivation. It honestly depressed me because I had all these wonderful ideas I wanted to get out but I couldn't.

My earliest experience with reading and writing were traumatizing especially when I was in the first grade. I still recall the experience I went through to this day. It made me really hate myself because the other kids were making fun of me.

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.

I read a book when i was 4 years old, you are probably surprised if not then I don't really care what you say. I was looking the paper that has the prompt for this assignment, So I have to write about an important event that shaped me as a reader. So then I found myself reminiscing about an event an event that set the stage for me as a reader.

I have always excelled in academics, but my strongest point was reading, and comprehension. I loved to read as a child, and that has stayed with me throughout life. I’m happy that I had such a love for reading at a young age, as it has helped me immensely in my secondary education, and will probably expand into university too.

Another way to describe my writing is that there seems to be an on going struggle between me the person, and me the writer. The feelings that I have here are the same as the above feelings, and I have to say it gets old after awhile. I would like to be able to sit down and write something that was good, and worth reading for once. Sometimes I think I'm wasting my time, and the readers time, because I just can't get the things I want to say out, but I guess that is all a part of the learning process. There have been many times, when I have felt like crying because I get so frustrated. I would like to write well again, it has

What influenced me to become the reader I am today is how when my parents read to me and how it made me feel. Growing up as a middle child was always the worst compared to my sisters. My little sister was the baby and got away with everything, along with all of my parents attention. My older sister was the “responsible” one so she got to do more and communicated a lot more with my parents. As the middle child to me the only time I got alone with my parents is when they would read to me.

I know what makes me happy: Reading. My reading passion started a few years ago and ever since I have not dropped a book. It all started when I was in fifth grade. My teacher Ms. Ortiz encouraged her students more than any other teacher to read! At the time I laughed at the idea of sitting down with a book. I did not have friends since my school was small and filled with kids that did not care much about school. As I started to read the stories filled my heart and made me happy. As the years went by and I started socializing more I stopped seeing reading as a way to forget about the world around me and more of a way to laugh and learn. But, when I am upset, I pick up a book. Reading is something I am passionate about. My favorite thing to

I still remember the day my love for reading really kicked off. I was in the second grade, and my mother was letting me play hooky. Naturally, the first place I wanted to go to was the harbor, or more specifically, Barnes & Noble. My mom had only recently started taking me there due to my habit of never wanting to give back the books I borrowed from the library. We walked in, and I immediately went upstairs to the children’s section, while my mother sat in the café area and waited for me to return so that she could tell me how many books I would have to put back. I wandered to the far back area of the children’s section. I don’t know what originally drew me to the thin, teal book, but I had it in my hands before I knew it. “One Day at Horrorland,” I read out loud. A green monster with gnarled horns and red eyes peered at me from behind a sign that read, “WELCOME TO HORRORLAND WHERE NIGHTMARES COME TO LIFE!” I ran my thumb against the