Waterville Descriptive Writing

As we waited for our food, I took to peering out the diner’s large storefront window that we seated ourselves next to and I people watched as the citizens of Mt. Harrison went on about their daily lives.

As the soldiers lay in the rat filled trenches, with bullet's whistling overhead. While the soldiers sleep the enemy never stops throwing bombs near the trench, as they try to catch the sleeping soldiers. Every night when they sleep they need to bear with rats biting their wounds caused by the cold. All the while surrounded by the whistling bullets of the enemies. As a bomb goes off feet away from the soldiers, they hear a quit whistle blow signalling for them to get back to the cold hard war that seems to never end.

Nestled snuggly into the Blue Ridge Mountains was Ridgecrest, North Carolina. Getting there was no joke seeing as the ears popped every five minutes, but the scenery was beautiful.

“Sweetheart, we know you want to play, but you need to come in.” Her mother smiled at her from the doorway. “I’ve made hot chocolate.” It was a lie, of course. Hot chocolate was a delicacy in those times, especially in such a far away land as Scotland, but anything to keep Larissa, their one joy, safe.

The pungent saltiness of the bayou is like the nostalgic smell of gasoline, repulsive and nauseating but irresistible. Looking in one direction I could swear that I was in the midwest. Cow pasture is stretched out for miles. Taking in the landscape completely, however, is like looking at my childhood bedroom that I shared with my sister. Although this is one place, there are two worlds here, separated into two perfectly portioned pieces. This land is a shared space between deep swamps and flat plains, with a near perfect line drawn down the center separating the two. The cows and alligators own this land for most of the year. The only time they are taken away from their home is for a week in the spring. The fertile land is transformed into T-Bois Blues Festival, an event that is the culmination of a tight knit group of friends and colleagues working together for one common goal. The desire to propagate

The athlete locks in his bindings on his Burton snowboard, adjusts his goggles, and peers down the mountain. He stares at the snow-covered trees, powdered slopes, and sapphire blue alpine lake in the distance. The young man remembers his skiing adventures through the trees as a small boy, rises to his feet, takes a deep breath and smiles. The crisp mountain air and the smell of pine trees fill his lungs as he glides down the blanket of snow on the groomed slopes of the mountain resort. The enjoyment of the sport of skiing and snowboarding, and the many other wonders of the Tahoe basin have been passed on to him from his family, and is like no other feeling in the world. Lake Tahoe is such a culturally and historically significant part of North

It is the year 2032 and I am a profile-writer for GQ. This particular year is monumental because it marks the 75th year of GQ‘s publication and my editor, Jim Nelson, plans to do it big for the entire world to see — literally. To mark the occasion, the magazine is featuring the 75 most stylish men of the past 75 years.

As I got off the plane, the scorching sun was already baking me. I had just landed in warm and sunny Arizona after spending the winter months freezing in Indiana. Unfortunately, I was only able to spend a week in Phoenix while my parents were doing business. My parents, Wendy and Aaron Joslin, were in Phoenix for a seminar on selling and producing cabinets. Despite the dull information on the new technology of cabinets, it was a week that taught me how to appreciate nature while also peaking my interest in the history of America, for that reason, I will always think pleasantly back to the time spent in Arizona.

It was a cold fall day when we decided to take a trip down to the Cataract. The traffic was light on the way there, my mom falling asleep in the back while I talked to Jeremy while he was driving. Every time I looked out of the window I saw beautiful shades of red or yellow. The second to last road that we turned onto was a gravel road with a bunch of twists and hills. Jeremy loved these type of roads, especially when he had the blazer to play with. We passed our usual spot that we take to get to the lower falls and turned onto the actual road that takes us into the park itself.

The streets of North Attleboro were damp and dark while wet yellow leaves stuck to the sidewalks. My brother and I contested to blow clouds of cold breath highest into the dark sky. Running around trying not to slip onto the hard concrete our mother gave us our bags. Carrying my spiderman suitcase the doors to the hotel automatically split side to side. The soles of my shoes still wet with water I saw a boned dinosaur standing steadily over a pool. Wanting to jump into the pool my brother and I wanted to grab our swimsuits. My mother told us not until tomorrow while my sisters rolled there eyes for they were all extremely tired. Tomorrow seemed to be an eternity although the dinosaur would be waiting for me. Father walking over, checked us

Yesterday, the ride home from Wingate was bitter sweet. Being Corson’s Sherpa this past semester has touched my heart in many ways. Corson and I shared many moments of laughter. When he laughs his eyes light up, his happiness infects me and when I laugh, his laughter rises to an appealing rambunctious roar. Mind you, he was generally laughing at one of many foibles which only served as a high octane igniter and often we both laughed until our sides ached.

After a long boring plane trip with my mom, dad, and grandma, we arrived at Philadelphia. We found a nice hotel and stayed in a small town nearby. Philadelphia is the sight of hundreds of historical sights and is the second largest city on the east coast. The hustle and bustle of Philadelphia affected my mom but when we found Pat’s King of Steaks we had a delicious lunch, and dinner was eaten at a Phillies game, downtown. The next day we drove around all the historical sights like Independence Hall, and I finally got to see the Liberty Bell! However, others don’t like Philadelphia because of the traffic and crowds. Leaving Philadelphia was sad but the next part was supposed to be more fun. The area around Philadelphia is supposed to be beautiful, and it was. We drove through Lancaster and spent a night in York. In conclusion, the historical sights and locations were the highlights of Philadelphia and the country around Philadelphia was beautiful as well.

As thin air encloses me as I inaugurate the last day of skiing at Breckenridge, Colorado. Three days of skiing cease rather painlessly; I stumble oftenly but an evening on the couch next to a crackling wood fire soothes my minor aches. Closing times nudges on the final day of our weekend trip as I prepare for my ultimate run of the vacation. Fresh off the ski lift, I glide towards the junction of the trials unoccupied skilled face of the mountain. I detach my boots from my ski’s and rest them on my shoulder, climbing up the rim of the mountain while the wind sways me back and forth, reaching the top, clicking my skis back on. After a moment of deliberating, I fearlessly select a narrow path so steep that the only way can be seen from my viewpoint.

With the vast possibilities of imagination, nonfiction descriptive writing has become very instrumental in allowing readers the opportunity to live experiences led by various authors in the field. As a result, most readers envision writers as artists expressing their paintings in writing, using a pen as the brush and a paper as the canvas. Using this analogy, readers expect to enjoy the meaning of the story through the content, experience some sense of verisimilitude through the style, and perceive the attention to detail through the grammar. With these key concepts in mind, one looks to examine two nonfiction descriptive writings by two different authors on two different subjects and try to determine how these various central concepts make each story truly exceptional. For this analysis, one examines E.B. White’s Once More to the Lake and Langston Hughes’ Salvation.

My mother came back with two cups; one overflowed with whipped cream, and one moderately filled with cream. I grinned at the sight of mine. Warm, chocolatey goodness. Delicious! I thought. I was engrossed in my mouth-watering drink. Savory, sweet, cocoa. The perfect way to end your day.