The Journey Of Self-Discovery By Te Asia Alston

All the words I could not say don’t go unspoken. All the words knotted on my tongue unravel themselves so freely at the tip of my pen, taking the form of antiheroes, headstrong female protagonists, and sonnets. My written words take on life. Whatever word was beheaded between my teeth, I’d revive it with paper and pen. My metaphor-fueled writing can take me to places where I thought were closed off to a poorly-spoken person like me—it took me to becoming the president of the school’s Model UN club, it took me to the couch in front of my brother waving around the speech I’ve written.

Whether while writing an essay or a birthday card, we have all struggled to find the proper words to illustrate our thoughts or feelings from time to time. Upholding the occupation of a writer would multiply that struggle tenfold. An occupation that depends on interesting, fluid pieces of writing every submission requires an adequate number of attempts and patience. Lamott expresses that writers “all often feel like we are pulling teeth” (Lamott), which proves the difficulty of writing is still there no matter the level of writer behind the work. Lamott also emphasizes that a writer “has to start somewhere” and shares her friend’s ideas in her writing to simply “get something - anything - down on paper” (Lamott). Lamott, and the other writers mentioned in this piece, carry incredible track records, while still admitting that perfection did not come initially, or even easily. Thus, proving that the Shitty First Draft has a place in any writer’s notebook or Word document. Lamott’s admission to struggling to properly begin a piece of writing surprised me, given of her success. I could not imagine a woman of her accomplishments stressing out over a food review, yet I felt relieved that someone of Lamott’s title relates to an amateur writer like myself. I often put off my writing as well when I cannot articulate a proper introduction. I do every other possible homework, or shy away from homework in general because the

It was my first dream crushed, being an astronaut. From then on, I would continue to search for my answer with little success. It wasn’t until the tenth grade that I discovered a new wonder: the art of storytelling. To me, there was no greater satisfaction than writing something with my whole being and watching as the intangible thoughts in my mind became something I was proud of on paper. Often I would daydream of writing for my very own tv show, but the dream would fade when I would acknowledge that there was a very small chance of success. But unlike the astronaut, this dream stayed. I don’t know why, since both fantasies are hard to imagine becoming an actuality. Maybe it’s the thought of creating my own space on Earth, taking the audience through an adventure like no other and leaving them in a state of awe as they stare at the stars on screen. Maybe it’s the idea of making words fly in the air as the reader can only look in amazement at the constellation of syllables moving off the page. Or maybe it’s because when I write, my pen becomes the telescope to my unmade phenomenon, discovering new clusters of ideas to enhance and explore, and my distant wish becomes closer with each letter on the

Writing may be an enthralling experience for one and a clever way to decompress for another. In general, however, writing has different purposes for a variety of people. “Why I Write,” written in the late 20th century by Terry Tempest Williams, describes various reasons for writing narrated from a female’s perspective. The short essay begins in the middle of the night with a woman engulfed in her own thoughts. She abruptly goes forth by reciting the multiple reasons why she continues to write in her life. Through a variety of rhetorical devices such as repetition, imagery, analogies, and symbolism, Terry Tempest Williams produces an elegant piece of writing that offers the audience insight into the narrator’s life and forces the audience to have empathy for the narrator with the situation she is incurring.

Marian Evans Lewes relates to aspiring writers by subtly elucidating her own anticipation in order to draw attention to the common misconceptions young people possess about writing. Lewes quickly states how “exultation is a dream before achievement and rarely comes after” (Lewes 8-9). By creating a short and concise sentence, Lewes quickly informs the reader of how in one’s youth, triumph and elation are expected results of one’s work. Yet the reality is that these are attributes that scarcely accompany one’s achievement. Lewes immediately juxtaposes her previously succinct point what that of a lengthy conclusion she has developed. She determines how after one has completed a piece of writing they feel as though their bodies became the system in which writing “develop[s] and grow[s] by some force of which one’s own life has only served as a vehicle and that what is left of oneself is only a poor husk” (11-13). Lewes contrast in

I hold the paper in my hands. It’s crumpling under my grip, but in it I get to live in the footsteps of others. My old dress is wrinkled and torn much like the paper, but I can’t spare the money on a new one. As much as I try to focus on the crinkled piece of paper with scrawly handwriting, I can’t. I just can’t. Tears run down my face and I wipe them away. It has been awhile since I have cried, so long in fact that I was afraid that there was something wrong with me. I push myself up from the old oak I sit at the base of. There’s no use in dwelling in what I can’t change. I fold the paper back in my dress pocket and walk into the field. I used to think there was beauty in the way that the grass grows in the street; standing low next to the

The pencil liberates my stresses and sorrows. Bare and unimpeded, my mind is able to isolate itself from anything that was happening in my life. At my art table, which is merely an escape from reality, my curiosity is able to wander. Within this room, five blank canvas's look in on me as I become a mold of my imagination. A step inside my world develops into a sea of color and exploration. The vibrancy of the walls resonates throughout. Over the years, my room has served as my oasis. It’s my escape from monotonous and mundane routines. It’s my exploration of another side of me. I observe such works of art almost as much as I create. Taking notice of my classmates’ innovations and inspired by their creativity, my paintbrush begins to alleviate stress. I strive to produce pieces others will appreciate, but often find myself to be the true admirer. My pride, in this world, is driven simply by my own curiosity to express myself. I credit this side of me as the “passion” that supplements my insane drive for success. This passion has sparked critical thinking in me as well as how I see failure. Life is a blank canvas and you can truly draw whatever you want, and if you fail, you start over and don’t make that same mistake again! Hard work takes ideas quite far, but true success is derived from ingenuity and the generation of

“It may be unfair ,but what happens in a few days ,sometimes even a single day can change the course of a whole lifetime. “(142

And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw-the sky. I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What am I doing in an office making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am! Why can’t I say that Willy.”(

I’m not a notable writer, nor have I really wanted to join the writing industry. However, I have been interested in other people’s writing. From their deep meanings, content, and different formats/styles. It’s a wondrous creation made from within our imagination and experiences. It has inspired me to write too. I’ve been writing most of my life that it has become a necessity. And now from my past experiences with writing, I try my best to improve my skills as a writer for the future.

When I first heard Ms. Drummey tell us that we would complete a project reflecting on ourselves I thought, “Oh good, this is going to be a piece of cake,” but as I sat down to choose the songs, poems, and art I would use, I discovered that this assignment would be nowhere near as easy as I had originally thought. You see, I had never truly analyzed who I am as a person and who I wanted to be. Hours upon hours of work later, I finally have a blurred sense of who I am, who I want to be, and where my life is going. Each individual entry has allowed me to realize my strengths and weaknesses, and as memories were pulled from the depths of my hippocampus, I was nearly drawn to tears.

As I read this novel, I could not stop crying. The way that the characters persisted moved me, the ending was a perfect mix of joy and pity, and the imagery was far beyond amazing. This quote, specifically, speaks to me because I can apply it to any aspect of my life, especially throughout my metaphorical journey in seventh grade. This book of poetry is not a series of poems that I tell my story through, but rather a biography written about the challenges and successes in my life. I have changed and evolved into the scholar and young woman that I am today throughout one school year, which is remarkable and overwhelming all at once.

When I read this book, I felt a familiar bond to Mattie, the main character, as she loves writing and so do I. She says in the book, as she is deliberating over buying an expensive composition book, “I had more ideas. Tons of them. For stories and poems. I chewed the inside of my cheek, deliberating. I knew I would have to write a lot when I went to Barnard --- if I went to Barnard—and it might be a good idea to get a head start.” I also have kept a journal, and have written stories in it. Having a journal has helped organized my thoughts and produce a good, quality piece of work. In Mattie’s case, having a journal helped her get into college, when her teacher Miss Wilcox reads her work and pushes for her to go to college. So having a journal

I’d always enjoyed writing but I’d never been so vocal about it. For me, it happened quietly. My notebooks lie scattered over my bedroom floor; they had no place at the lunch table. And my writing survived on my acknowledgments alone, I couldn’t even imagine letting some else read it. This was due in part to my own self-doubt: I was embarrassed of my poems that never rhymed and my short action stories that never seemed to have any plot. But I

Through this creative writing class, I gained a newfound respect for writing. Writing had allowed me and continues to allow me to see the world through a different perspective; with this thought in mind, I decided I would no longer allow creative writing to be placed on the backburner in my life. When the outside world goes to shambles, I know I can turn to writing to help me make sense of what is happening and to escape life’s troubles even if only