Write An Essay About Moving Away From Ap Literature Class

At first this seemed to be easy but I later began to notice the assignment might become boring to some reader’s. After finishing the assignment I felt good with the outcome but knew that I could have written a better paper. This was obvious after the instructor reviewed the assignment and gave me a grade that hit hard. This showed me first hand that I was a good writer but was far from being prefect. After picking myself up, I reviewed the notes she provided and made the suggested changes. I then resubmitted the assignment in hopes the changes were correct and I would get a final grade that I knew I was capable of earning. After waiting the final grade was submitted and I had earned a grade I knew I could earn. I know that without the help of my peers and the instructor this would have not been

I glanced up at the clock. It was 12:18. Mrs. Ewert exclaimed, “One or two problems guys.” My heart sunk to my toe. I had langage arts next. Mrs. Berntson was coming back to school after her son went missing. My friends say that she is seeking revenge and locking up kids. I tried not to think about it and did a math problem, I knew they were exaggerating. The bell rang and Mrs. Ewert excused the class. I slowly walked down the crowded hallway. I turned the corner and could see her crusty, burnt door. Now I could believe my friends, Mrs. Berntson has gone crazy! I looked across the hallway and could see my friend, Will. You could tell by his face that he was scared to go in.

As I walk into the school, I take a deep breath repeating the words “I can do this, I’ve done it before.” Laying my paper down to the table, the woman gives me the okay to head up to room 222. Walking up the stairs I could feel my heartbeat pound harder and harder, as if I had an elephant pounding on my chest. Realizing this was my last chance to take this test before I started applying to colleges, made my stress level rise uncontrollably.

It’s ENC 1101, Not knowing what to expect I entered the room with absolute fear, after all it was my first year of college. Although I’ve never been quite fond of English in the past, I’ve always excelled in the subject. I had yet to work for my grade and no English course I had taken proved to be a challenge through my eyes. I am a huge procrastinator, if not one of the biggest when it comes to assignments. I most likely wrote papers the night before or the day of and still managed to average an “A” on all of them. This bad habit led me to believe that I was cheating myself. Throughout my scholastic years I always had the mentality of asking “what could this class possibly teach me that I didn’t already know?” I believed that my writing

For my last and final paper for this semester I wanted it to be good. I wanted it to be better than all my papers I have done this whole semester. So for that to happen, I have to start writing my rough draft. When I had gotten my rough draft done, I went to Kresge to have Sarah read my paper; to help me look for mistakes I mad. After we fixed the ones we saw I thought it sounded pretty good. I’m not going to lie, but I was excited to turn it in the next day.

Then I went to language and sat down next to Makenzi, Taylor, and Itzel. Makenzi gave me a piece of gum and the rest of class consisted of reading a stupid story. Then Mrs. Morrone told us our homework which was a work book page. 10 minutes after that she dismissed us and I stopped at my locker. I opened it with ease and took out my science textbook and workbook. I sat down next to Taylor and we talked about our science fair project, which is due in January. All of a sudden, Mrs. Dainton screamed out, “Ah, a spider!” The whole class laughed and screamed. Mrs. Dainton took off her black shoe and tried to hit the spider, but she missed. She aimed again and finally hit it. She told us to quiet down and do our homework, we didn’t. Makenzi continued to laugh and make jokes. “Makenzi, come here,” yelled Mrs. Dainton. Makenzi didn’t so she got a referral. When Makenzi left, the class quieted down and continued working. Mrs. Dainton quietly dismissed us and I stayed because that’s where I have advisory. I worked on homework, and when I was done I read my book. The book I’m reading is called “After Eli”. The bell rung, I put up my chair, and I

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

I walked into my dorm room, red-faced and embarrassed. Professor Piper had given me an F for doing the assignment correctly, only it was about Simon Snow. How couldn’t she understand that fanfiction meant the world to me and was most definitely not plagiarism? I thought about calling Wren to comfort me and make me feel better. However, when I did call, she didn’t pick up all six times I’ve tried calling.

I just got done with an excellent day of painting in Mrs.Boe’s art class and as i was walking down the halls i think to myself oh no my next i have the dreaded Mrs.Berntson’s torture filled class. Once i turn the corner coming up from the stairs i see a big rope of snot shoot from out Mrs.Berstsons class room and rope some kid named Tavion in. As i slowly inch closer to her classroom i can hear Tavion screaming. Now i'm at her closed door and i’m going to try to slowly open it and see if i can sneak in without her hearing or seeing me.

. My midterm paper for my English 102 class, I asked several of my peer students if anyone would like to show me their papers. It is a morning period class, right after midterms, everyone was embarrassed by their essays. Then the girl next to me, an engineer major, who never talks in class said, “I’ll show you mine.” While I sat at my desk in the middle of class, over crowed, reading it the paper bashed me into restlessness. It stated with relating terror, mixed pigment of black light, then a back alleyway, then a person stumbling into a tiger, then motionlessness. Reading her essay my heart shaking like an earthquake inside me. When finished a blank face and frozen stances,

I forgot the extra credit essay, this is a great way to start my day, So I did it on the bus of course, and so I can turn it in on time. I couldn't think of anything so I put down “balloons. There might be balloons.” and because I was on the bus my handwriting was terrible. Akimi and I went into the classroom as normal and sat down. Our teacher, Mrs. Cameron, started talking and was collecting our essays. She came to me and look at mine, she was not impressed at all. She read it aloud which was just great, and she also reminded me about my brother and how he was able to write essays. She collected the essays then said the worst thing she could have possible said “ Mr. Luigi Lemoncello himself will be the final judge.” “ Of what? “ Your library

During class I ask to be excused, Mrs. Hammonds gives me the hall pass, as I make my way into one of the two stalls. Closing the door, all over the walls and door are bad things written about me. Black sharpie written into that wooden door, “Call Ally for a good time” with a fake number underneath, I quickly rush out of the stall returning to class. My heart was racing, trying to keep my composure till the end of school. Later that evening, I told my mom what I found

My anxiety is getting the better of me.This has been my downfall in the past. Usually when this happens, my mind takes me to a dark place. I start question myself. Whatif I fall in front of everyone? Whatif I did not really passall my classes?What will my next move be? Immediately my next thought is to flee. I can just get that piece of paper later from my Supervisor. Then I realize, my superior is not just here for support. She is here to speak, to speak about me. As I sit contemplating a plan to escape the room gracefully. I start deep breathing slowly. Counting to ten in my mind. Twirling my hair around my finger. I try to relax my, tense body. I can hear all the wonderful complimentary, things being said about me. I start telling myself, it will be over soon, just hold on. By this time, the room is spinning. I am positive my shirt is soaking wet. I thought I would faint.Then the moment I have been dreading, my Professor calls out Jacquelyn Ross. As I walk towards her, my legs are weak. I shake her and take my certification. I glance at all the genuinely happy faces. Some standing, others clapping fiercely. And then

“You can pack up now,” declared Mrs. Miller as she ended class on a cheerful spring day. She was relieved class was over; controlling twenty-first-graders on a Friday in spring was a difficult job. Anxiously, I ran to the back of the class, grabbed my spring jacket off of the hook, and threw my guided reading homework into my bright blue backpack. I glided back to my desk and waited for all the kids who were riding the bus to leave. “Looks like your grandfather is picking you up,” stated Mrs. Miller as she read the note that mom wrote that morning. I patiently waited all morning for mom to write, sign, and date the half piece of yellow notebook paper that I placed on the table for her. “Mmmhmmm,” I squeaked back, with a grin on my

Many would think she was mean and sarcastic twenty-four hours a day -well she was- but she only wanted us to respect her so we could learn to love and appreciate English. “Your favorite time has come! Anyone wants to make a guess?! It’s time to write an essay!” Of course Ms.L would end class with a comment like this. I always did my English homework because she was a bit intimidating when you didn’t finish the homework she had assigned, but an essay? I glance at the paper thrown to my table and the only words that catch my eye are “personal and minimum: 1000 words.” I run my hands over my face back and forth, but it also feels like someone is hitting my chest with a baseball back and forth. This is definitely not my favorite time of the year, it’s not even funny. It’s silly to say but we don’t like people to know who we really are because it’s just another weakness they use against us. Almost everyone in high school hated to have to share, whether it was something personal or not. After she told us we had to write about a personal experience, I couldn’t stop my mind from going to past events, events that I didn’t want to bring back. As my mom is leaving my school’s parking lot, I stare out my window towards my English classroom. “Que pasa mija?” my mom asks matching my worried face. She can always tell when something is wrong, “it’s nothing I can’t handle” I reassure my mom before she has just another thing to stress about. I look over to the time on the car’s radio and it