Sitting in the classroom, I was irritated by the unbearably hot and humid air, and silently waiting for the essays we wrote to return to us. The teacher stood at the front of the classroom. She called my name, saying, “Your writing is good, but the story doesn't have enough depth.”
Stating someone’s writing is good is the usual rhetoric my teacher used before she tries to make the student feel bad. She had been teaching the same subject for at least twenty-five years, and she was known to students for never missing any opportunities to point out students mistakes in front of the class. I remember the essay title was “The Most Unforgettable Moment.” The story I wrote is roughly about one day when I was walking on the street, and I saw a homeless person begging for food. My heart ached for the poor homeless stranger. The only thing he was wearing was a worn out, ripped blue cotton trousers. I gave him two coins I had in my pocket. He looked up at me and smiled, he said, ”It’s a nice day today.”
I was moved by how he was enjoying the warmth of the sun, but I was stressed out, hurrying walking to next destination without noticing how wonderful the day was. But according to my teacher’s template, a homeless person shall always tell the author how grateful he is. And I as an author should express how thankful I am to my parents for providing a carefree environment. I didn’t really know why the homeless person didn’t say thank you, instead he commented on the weather. For me, I
This English class was the best English class I have ever had. There were no tests, vocabulary quizzes, or in class essays, which made the class less stressful. Before this English class, I was afraid that I would not enjoy writing many essays or writing so many words in one paper. Afterwards, essays have become something that is not so much my favorite task in the world, but it has become more enjoyable to an extent. Professor Sullivan’s class has taught me to formally write a research paper, to analyze a book through responding to different quotes from the story or novel, to understand magical realism, and to understand my own passion for school and how much effort I will be willing to put out in years to come.
Reflecting on my life as a means of deciding on a topic, one time period struck me as particularly important in terms of writing itself: my second year of second grade. Moving to Poway in 2007, the first class I was in was Mrs. Ramin’s 2-3 combo at Painted Rock. I had purple wire-rim glasses, a brown Hello Kitty tracksuit, two friends, and a hatred of writing. This was particularly unfortunate for young Analise, since Mrs. Ramin’s main focus was writing. She encouraged her students to write daily, setting aside 20-60 minutes each day for it. Although I hated it at first, my passion for creative writing grew as I turned my love for my sister and for Webkinz into tales of adventure and peril parallel to my then favorite series, Magic Tree House. I wrote, drew, and colored whatever my seven-year-old imagination spun for me. After that spark, the fire of writing died down to a smolder until eighth grade, when I wrote my first successful essay, “Flowers for Algernon: A Comparative Essay On How Two Versions of the Story are like
The blinds on the windows are shut, it feels like a prison cell as I sit under the spotlight. The darkness outside makes me feel somber and alone. I stare at the glowing screen and think to myself, “It’s just me and this paper.” In December of my junior year in high school, I was assigned a persuasive essay on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel, The Scarlet Letter; it was my first academic essay of the year. My previous experiences with academic writing were both stressful and unfulfilling; when the essay topic was announced, I felt only resentment and anger, I remembered my past tribulations. With my mother’s help, this essay was different; after I submitted it to the teacher, I possessed a new perspective on academic writing. From my experience, I learned that strong writing skills are vital to communication, critical thinking, and life outside of the classroom.
As spring semester began, the anxiety pushed into my life. Since I knew I was going to be the youngest in the class, I was concerned if people were even going to talk to me. I expected to come into the stressful English 101 class as a relatively inexperienced writer; however, I was astounded when I started writing my first college essay. Our topic “monsters” has taught me ways to analyze and compare certain people and objects. My recommendation for those entering this composition class is to not wait until the last minute and ask as many questions as you can to reach your goal towards fantastic essays. Although spring semester is coming to an end, I will continue to improve my writing skills and reasoning as I advance in my English and college career.
After a grueling first quarter, I was completely miserable, with terrible grades, low self-esteem, and no end in sight. I was hanging on to the hope that there would be some epiphany moment, a moment where suddenly my writing soared, along with my grades. That change did happen, but not all at once‒ it began during the third quarter, when my teacher, Ms. Boynton, asked me to stay after class, along with five other students. She asked if we would each be interested in participating in The Atlantic and College Board Essay Contest, in which we would each submit an analysis of a famous American speech. I was truly stunned that she had chosen me over so many other students in the class, since I had felt so lost for so many weeks, but it was exactly what I needed as motivation to keep on improving my writing. As I worked closely with her on my contest submission and other class work, I came to realize how much she cared about me and wanted to help me succeed. With that being said, she never made it easy; she continually pushed me, knowing that I could always do better if I set my mind to it. Last September, I began her demanding course with the intention of purely surviving, not necessarily thriving, but that
From the early beginning of the school year to the current day, my writing skills and knowledge have improved and broadened over time. If not drastic, the change is noticeable nevertheless. For almost an entirety of eighth grade, assignments of varying difficulty challenged me to a degree. To be frank, some seemed as though they were beyond my comprehension and ability. However, determination amalgamated with knowledge obtained in advance helped me to overcome my doubts, for I exceeded my expectations; surprisingly good grades and comments are a delight, owing to the fact of that I don’t tend to think of myself as being proficient at writing. Consequently, the assignments given to me this school year shaped me into who I am as a writer.
Logan Pearsall Smith once said, “Fine writers should split hairs together, and sit side by side, like friendly apes, to pick the fleas from each other’s fur.” All be it an overwhelmingly disgusting image, Smith’s words are true when it comes the art and science of putting pencil to paper. In the classroom, students should be able to be vulnerable, honest, accountable and “real” in their writing so that they may grow to become better writers. It is the responsibility of the teacher to insure a quality learning environment that is conducive to these three factors. Observing the writing process and identifying the experiences within, be them personal, direct or indirect, contribute to how the educator teaches students using best practices.
When I turned in my short story to my teacher I ended up getting a "A" on my paper. I was very pleased with my grade. But most importantly, I was more impressed with my dedication towards writing this paper. There were times that I could
If I had a time travel machine, I would love to go back to our class’s first meeting. It was such a memorable day. I was so nervous that my first piece of writing seemed less than mediocre as I reflected on what I had written that day. While being happy that my name was randomly chosen to be added to the class, I was very scared of this class. The last time I wrote an essay was two years ago, and before this class I had forgotten how to write one. I believe good writing requires lots of practice, and I have not practiced my writing for a long time. In addition, my reading was not even up to par since I only read books required for my classes. I did not
It was Friedrich Nietzschehas who said, “What doesn’t kill you makes, you stronger”. I like to call these moments in a person’s life, “defining moments”. Additionally, I like most people, have had a few of these “defining moments”; probably more than one person should. Growing up, I had a hard time accepting one of my “won’t kill you-make you stronger” moments. It was a moment of betrayal and deceit, inflicted upon by a person I trusted fully and completely, with my life. My mother.
Many people influenced and events my reading and writing development throughout my childhood from my mother, my elementary librarian, and Sesame Street, to getting my first pair of glasses. We all have defining moments in our lives where we can look back and say, “That moment changed my life.” This is the story of the defining moment that changed the way I read and write, and I learned it from a whale!
Since the beginning of the semester, my writing has changed and evolved to accommodate and sustain longer essays. With longer essays, there is more room for in-depth analysis. Further analyzing a topic has led me to findings that I did not know existed. As I continue to write, I uncover addition and superior methods to approach my writing to the benefit of me and therefore, my audience. Throughout the semester, I have incorporated techniques to further my narrative throughout my writing.
My most memorable childhood event was when I was 15 years old. It was the Fourth of July. A big family vacation a barbeque, over night stay and out of town trip to six flags, and I had a blast the night before me, my mom, sisters and brother packed our bags to stay the night over my cousin house in Goodlettsville ,Tennessee. She had the biggest house ever I thought it was a mansion; six bedrooms two an half bath, a swimming pool, a game/movie room with a nice big kitchen. It was something that I was not use, knowing that we stayed in a three bedroom based on an income apartment on the East side of Nashville.
Throughout life I have had many memorable events. The memorable times in my life vary from being the worst times in my life and some being the best, either way they have become milestones that will be remembered forever. The best day of my life was definitely the day that I received my drivers' license. This day is one of the most memorable because of the feelings I had when I received it, the opportunities that were opened up for me and the long lasting benefits that I received from it that still exist today.