Writing In Middle School

Throughout my entire life – just like anyone else – English and writing papers has been present. In our society, writing papers is a necessary part of educating our youth and helping them to become smarter individuals. For me, these papers have always been a dreaded experience. As soon as a teacher starts talking about a paper that is coming up, my brain instantly starts freaking out. From one-page papers that had to be written in middle school, to a twenty minute presentation I had to give at the end

Writing first was just a thing i did in school and for a grade. I knew that if i wanted to at least pass my english classes or any other classes that required writing, i had to write. Middle school writing was a impractical impression of what real writing was like. To write was easy: i know how to spell and write letters into words and words into sentences. In middle school, i just went along with the prototype the teacher had set up for us, but i didn't put much thought to it. When i got to high

summer vacation began. But, where did the summer go? Long days spent at the beach buried in the sand; seem like a distant memory. Fifth grade has become the reality and being a middle school student is still sinking in. Finding the perfect outfit seems near impossible. No one wants to start the first day of being a middle school student wrong. An agitated voice yelled down the hallway “Emily, you are going to miss your bus if you don’t hurry up!” She grabs a pair of Jeans and a pink Old Navy T-shirt

It was in the great plains of Texas where there was dry land and dirt for miles. As you would think that it is all country, it’s not. It is just like any other school. But there is one thing that’s odd about it, there is this one teacher that is always suspicious and secretive. The children in the school call him the Grumps. He is an old man that is very tall and skinny. He carries a cane wherever he goes and some kids believe that, that was the punishment they used in detention

find Mark, her only classmate which she found irritating, poking her shoulder with a pencil. "can I borrow a pen?" He smiled, radiant and bright. "Can you find someone else to bother, mark?" Chelsea retaliated, facing the board once more, whilst writing down notes, the black pen in contrast with her pale skin. "come on, Chelsea. Please?" Mark begged and Chelsea refused to answer, not phased in the slightest. Being in the same situation thrice helps you learn. Sure, she didn't have any friends, but

I sat in the auditorium of my elementary school waiting for my name to be called. It was the day of my fifth grade farewell ceremony rehearsals. Our Principal breezed through the names of my classmates, when she got to my classes’ list my name was first. She paused and squinted at the paper as if the font had gotten smaller. She moved the paper closer and pushed her glasses on the tip of her nose. “Hannah... I’m not going to say your last name because I am going to butcher it.” I was instantly filled

doesn’t talk to me anymore except for the occasional glance in the hallway. But ever since Laurel smiled her beautiful smile that day at the hospital, I’ve had a huge crush on her and today I can’t stop staring at her. See, every Spring our middle school holds a school dance and I’ve been trying to gather the courage to ask Laurel if she would go with me. So far I’ve got no hope. While we sip on Pepsi and crunch on pizza I can’t help but notice how Laurel’s bronze hair cascades down her shoulders in long

In Middle School, there was boy that I shared most of my classes with. I don’t remember much about him other than he was fairly thin and frail, along with that he always wore a black hoodie. We had bumped into each other a few times before, but the first time I actually took notice of him was one time when he came to school without his jacket. His arms were covered in bruises and burns. If I am correct in my suspicions

Starting in elementary school, my parents and I were told that I was above the standard when it came to learning. I was out in a class called “Talent Development” and we would read and discuss different books. This was the start of my literary career. I started off a little ahead, but as I grew up, that “advancement” I had started to get smaller and smaller. In middle school, we hardly ever wrote, if ever. Then in high school the only papers we really wrote were in 12th grade. Every other paper

“Mr. Josten, Mr. Josten!” yelled one of the eighth graders from my current math class in Crescent Middle School. I figured it would be another out of context question, as that was the norm for Andrew. Andrew had always seemed to be the one who tried his hardest, but could not focus on his schoolwork, or anything for that matter. I acknowledged his raised hand to hear, “what would happen if someone figured out how to pass things through time?” I figured since there was a small amount of time left