Personal Narrative: My Writing Experience

My writing experience started in high school. I was part of the high school yearbook. I was business editor as a freshman up to being the editor my senior year. I also participated on the newspaper staff. I had some experience in college, but I did not finish college. I then did not have any more experience until I started work as a leader at Nisco. I finally started college classes again.

Seventh grade was a drag to my education. I was mentally unstable and extremely introverted. My academics never faltered during this time, and I never had problems with authority. Learning was my first love. It was passion for education that prompted me to experiment outside of school.

Distant, cold, and non-existent describes my relationship with writing. My relationship with writing has never been a close relationship. Writing has always been difficult for me. I have never hated writing, but it has been a constant challenge for me. I will be discussing my fears of writing, the value of being able to express your ideas through writing, and what excites me about writing more and more.

Mostly everyone’s first experience with language is similar. The first words that a newborn will hear are usually very simple. Almost every time someone new enters the world and first sucks oxygen into their lungs, they hear something along the line of “congratulations! It’s a boy (or girl)”. A child’s first look at written language however, can be a completely different experience. What I share with you today is my writing experience throughout my childhood and how my family, friends and my education have played roles in the growth of my writing ability, as well as how I engage in the act of writing.

The writing process feels different to me depending on the topic I am writing about. Topics I don’t care for feel very long and tedious and it seems like I’m spending more time thinking about what to write than actually writing. Topics that I do like on the other hand feel much easier to write about and can feel like I’m almost rambling. My writing process begins with a fairly lengthy brainstorming session.

Although my writing process flows very well for me, while originally writing the poems I found myself in a very bad writers block. I feel as though I’ve been in a writers block for a couple months now but only recently got out of it and that is where the revisions for my pieces in this portfolio came from. This class really did help me find my own voice and how I want to write. It also helped me with my songwriting and it inspired me to make music which is what one of my goals and passions are as of right now. I also journal and sketchbook every single day and this class is what helped me get into the habit of it. Eventually I learned to just like to do it instead of it being a chore. From what my pieces show, my prefered writing technique

My warm up exercises consisted of going out on the balcony and, then, listening to the music while walking in my room. I intended to write a poem today and I decided to use this technique to set up my mind for creative writing. I found that music really helped my to do that, especially, after experiencing in class exercise, during which we listened to music and then wrote a poem. I am trying to vary my warm up technique to because I want to explore what works best for me and what doesn’t or does much less.

I love to write. It’s actually where I feel most creative. However, I don’t love to write. It is my belief that composing documents by typing them is unquestionably easier and more efficient. When one physically writes, they typically tire easily. For me, it’s usually at five sentences or so when my hand starts to cramp up. At that point, I begin to compromise in my writing, trying to get to my point as quickly as possible, so that I can just get it over with. I also find that I’m a planner when writing. I can have a whole paragraph mapped out in my head before even starting it. However, when I have to slowly and painstakingly compose with a pen or pencil, I lose many of the ideas I had going into it, and again, just want to get it over with.

Writing is always giving me that love and hate feeling. Generally, if you ask me about my writings, I assume you are asking about personal writing, because academic writing is something I just have started last year. In addition, one thing that I love about writing is that give me a chance to express myself. So, let’s focus on my personal writing first. Like most of the kids from China, I officially started writing in my first year of elementary school. I don’t know if you can tell but I was being considered one of the best writer in our class. I was that kid whose writing was always being read in front of class as the good example. I was, kind of proud, at least at that period. A lot of credit must go to my mom, who has taught me how to write

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

When I was a little girl I loved to write, my father would give me silly little writing prompts and I would write short paragraphs of made up scenarios. My father really encouraged my writing at an early age, but as I grew a little bit older I realize that I struggled with it a lot. I can remember my very first personal journal. The stuff I would write was so underdeveloped, because I was so young but I didn’t care at the time. As I grew older, I became fond of roleplaying online on websites or in video games such as World of Warcraft. I continued to roleplay through high school at the same time trying to do the school work my teachers were giving me. My teachers knew I was struggling at the time and didn’t take much interest in helping

They say that the pen is mightier than the sword, why so? For ages writing has been used to move people, start revolutions, confess a love for another, express hatred for an enemy, etc. Writing is one of the foundations of ancient and modern society. Writing is forever.

This room smelt of a multitude of perfumes mixed with coffee, and employees chitchatting echoed across the lobby. I stood in the entrance for a quick second, anxious that this was not the right place. Taking a step forward, I could feel the tightness of my expensive loafers around my feet, and the itchiness of my button-up around my torso. As I examined the room, I noticed a chair near the window in an empty corner. This seemed like a decent spot to wait. The chair itself was a terribly ugly green, similar to the Starbucks symbol. Its plushness sucked you in when you sat; getting out of it was a hassle. As I was sitting, I felt like I could not breathe. Everything felt so stiff: my throat, my appendages, my clothes, my mind. Sweat was seeping through my pores, and all I could think was, “Not now, anxiety, not now.” I could hear someone shouting “Samantha!” in a high-pitch tone at the opposite side of the lobby, which stopped my mind from racing. I was not certain that the shout was directed toward me, but I wandered over that way. The woman shouting must have been Louise, who was coordinating my whole job shadow. I met up with her, and she led me to the multitude of elevators that operated in Maine Medical Center. There were people everywhere-nurses, kitchen staff, doctors, visitors, and others I could not label. When the elevator arrived, Louise and I crammed in with what felt

I have been asked what exactly I am doing with this blog, by several readers.

Evan began searching for all the files, for he wanted to find all the useful information. One thing caught evan’s eye; a picture of a family. The family consisted of a single mom with two young boys surrounding her. Evan attained a slight pang of sadness for the reason of he never spent much time with his own mother.