Right Now I'M Gushing With Excitement, But Later I Might

I’m bound into a vicious cycle of obscurity so deep that the choice was luminous. I seem less than myself, but at the same time, I can feel relaxed- even self-righteous, believing that I, a mere mortal, am immanent within this existing plane… And, I ask, Why must we face reality and not become lost in the gray abyss of our mind when it returns to the dawn of darkness from whence it came? Truly, it is comforting there…

Throughout my two quarters in a row in English classes, I have to learn that I needed to slow down and take my time to re-read my assignments before turning them in. As well not to “eat my words” I may say them in my head and not type them. I can’t always assume that the reader knows what I trying to say if I don’t write them down. I must pay close attention to see what I’m trying to imply in order to implement it into my writing.

Texting has also been coined terms such as ‘textese’ and ‘fingered speech’. Unlike the often deliberate and self-conscious process of writing, in which the individual has time to self-edit their thoughts, technological advancements in the field of mobile phones has allowed users to record their thoughts with much more speed. This act of “[writing] as if [they were] saying it” equates to a playful and informal register (Thurlow & Brown, 2013).

The way she uses description in this essay and the flow of events is very similar to the way that memories rush in when one returns to a familiar place from one’s past. To someone that may not of experienced this phenomena the details described may seem to be disconnected and random.

Feeling thwarted in every effort to set circumstances right, in my life - not between us, becomes intense with patterns and connections. Illuminating my mind, emulating the strings from ballistics in a crime scene, or worse, a schizophrenic’s garage, complete with wall covered newspaper clippings and red marker lines that model no reality but chaos. My connections are evidence based, empirically proven models of physical systems; my subjective realizations were at least based on such arrangements and configurations, architectures and harmonies. Between the visits to the women trying to help me I have assignments. The next two weeks include writing my strengths, progress in the past year, and compliments. One of those is your supportive, wonderful email that doling out strokes for learning proper grammar. That felt

My writing is like getting to the center of a tootsie-pop, it takes a good amount of licks but once you’re there it's the best. The reason I say it’s like trying to get to the center of a tootsie-pop is because throughout this class I have noticed my writing progressively getting better with each essay I write. With every lick I get closer and closer to the center of the tootsie-pop, as with every paper I get closer and closer to the best part of my writing. From the one pager we wrote as our first paper, to the comparison contrast paper we wrote as the last paper of this semester, as I look back at them it doesn’t look like the same writer two totally different authors and one is the tootsie in the center of the tootsie-pop.

Afterwards, I stared at my backpack, which lay across the room. I could hear it taunting me, almost laughing at me, and as time dwindled by, I could feel the pressure my undone homework sitting in my backpack. But that little voice inside my head was still convinced I had enough time to finish it later. Nevertheless, I procrastinated, but this time I was in the second stage. In the back of my mind, I heard that little whisper telling me to start my homework, but that little voice was drowned in the noise of the bigger, much louder voice convincing me I still had plenty of

These thoughts that haunt my mind; these horrible and wretched thoughts that break me apart one excruciating second at a time. The thoughts that make me weep at the fact that they are riotously true. The thoughts that make me cry myself to sleep. These thoughts that create the demons that live inside my head, unwilling destroying me, but keeping me alive for some more pain, but not enough to kill me, just to make me hold on a little longer. Making me wish we were dead. These are the thoughts that I feel constantly, every millisecond of every single day. The thoughts that leave me awake, wishing I could just go to sleep for just 1 minute, but it’s unbelievably impossible. At this point you, the reader

Ill thinks long and hard about my opening sentence and after I’ve come up with a good one the words just come into my head and I type them. Then I reread them to make sure that they make sense. Since I’m still in high school I do think that my writing style really has room to grow as I discover myself and who I want to be. I’d say that my process could improve, there’s always someone can improve or makes themselves better. For right now I think my process works, I think it works because I’ve never received a bad grade on something I written. Sure, my drafts have always had lots of red marks but doesn’t everyone’s? Like I said you can always improve and that’s what I’d really like to do in English

Suddenly, her piercing voice cracked my security shell that had hidden me for the past six years. “Well, I can see that there is some potential buried beneath all that mumbo-jumbo. The hard part is just digging it out!” Confused, I searched for the correct response and answered, “Um, Mrs. Smith I don’t have a shovel to dig.” Of course Mrs. Smith replied, “That’s quite all right. You can use your hands. Pick up that pencil and go to work.” Until the bell rang, that day, I was lost in a maze of red ink. My goal was to distinguish between “mumbo-jumbo” writing and writing that, with editing, and more editing, might become worthy for Mrs. Smith herself to read. Overwhelmed with excitement, I was determined to receive a “well-written” comment from Mrs. Smith or at least a “not

Writing is such an important tool. It has the capacity to empower both the reader and writer. There is even a famous proverb that says, “The pen is mightier than the sword.” That’s why it makes sense for the majority of my academic career to be geared towards the improvement of my writing. There is no denying that there is an infinite number of ways that I can improve my writing. After writing multiple essays for this English 100 Y class, my professor pointed out certain aspects of my writing that I could work on. Two of those suggestions stuck out to me because it seemed as though I was making these mistakes multiple times throughout various forms of writing. One of the mistakes I make is the use of ‘favorite’ words, or words that I use too many times in the same paper; another is that I use choppy sentences while writing my essays.

I have always struggled to string together words to put on the page. After I joined debate in high school, I unlocked a great ability to speak fluently and powerfully. However, my writing could never quite catch up to how fast my mind and mouth can articulate my ideas. Through this class, I have worked much harder on being able to write just as much as I could say. Free-writes have proven very helpful in this aspect. Some days we would not have the time to discuss the free-write, hence, I worked hard to transcribe all the ideas I would want to share with the class on the page. Not only was I writing the ideas, but I tried to make sure the ideas were written cohesively and grammatically

Once I began to think, I couldn’t stop. My mind was with tangled with buzzing and incessant thoughts, distracting me from reality regardless of my futile attempts to silence them. Inconveniently, my thought tangents were triggered by usually overlooked situations and lasted

I sat there with my legs crossed for hours. The tingly numbness rose up from my toes to the top of my spine. Hours of nothingness. Hours of staring at a blank sheet of paper. Hours of complete and utter silence. Then, it began. My pencil, which was previously silent, began to speak. The shapes flowed out no real meaning. No sense just movement. I began to move my pencil with brisk movements. Soft and then brisk once more. Switching the colors once, twice, and then again. Shading, blending, redrawing, and repeat. Over and over again as the colors flowed out and told me something that I wasn't expecting, completion.

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. One of the many reason I hate writing is because I worry so much about my punctuation. I could be writing an amazing paper, but when I go back and find a thousand punctuation errors, I try to switch up the writing to make it flow more. When the topic is relatable I excel in the assignment, but if it is not relatable it takes me some time to start or find a connection I can use as a building block. One of the many things I love about writing is the freedom to express my ideas without feeling self-conscious. For example, I love writing spoken word poems, but finding the courage to actually say them aloud in front of an audience scares me a bit. Another negative for me is that I have difficulty expounding on simple topics that the teacher wants me to write more on. I could write a few sort sentences and answer the