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Most of my childhood is filled with memories of unfortunate events. Writing was my outlet to express my feelings about them, but could never formulate my thoughts in a coherent manner. My short stories and poems always had a tendency to begin with one idea and end on a completely different one, though that never bothered me, I simply loved writing, whether it was good or not. However, it wasn't until middle school writing became an actual outlet for my emotions, because my difficulty to comprehend the spectrum of emotions I had throughout the day. I suffer from a great deal of anxiety attacks often brought on by suppressed stress along a string of personal experiences with abuse, and other traumatic incidents that had a significant impact on my writing style. These anxieties began to exhibit themselves more frequently during my middle school years, as I was painfully shy, and, yes, somewhat desperate for social acceptance, because the environment was such a significant change from my previous school. Most students were polar opposites to me; outspoken, seemingly confident, and easily socially accepted, because their personalities were so alike. …show more content…
The first week of 7th grade I was forced into participating in extracurricular activities; the only clubs open at the time were Hair-styling and Dance Team. Neither was my forte, as I had absolutely no interest in learning the techniques behind how to style and color hair, and dancing required me to exude confidence that I clearly did not possess. I remember thinking to myself, “What the hell? I wear my hair in a bun everyday, why would I be interested any styling anyone else’s hair?” Alas, I was placed into both, which only heightened my anxiety, now I had competition for something I wasn’t even remotely passionate about, yet, still expected to excel. I only lasted in hair club a
It all began my freshman year of high school when I was told about elective classes that would help me decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I always had a passion for doing hair, make-up, and nails so that was easy for me to choose an elective. My freshman and sophomore year I decided I would take cosmetology classes. I would spend two hours each day of school in the cosmetology lab, which was always cold and smelled like hairspray, burnt hair from the straighteners or a strong acetone smell that someone gets a whiff of at a nail salon. We learned so much material and I had a good time practicing my skills on manikins and other classmates. One thing I didn’t enjoy was the gossip and drama, but of course one would expect that from a class
I have never liked writing; I always thought it was a waste of time. It was a great therapy but I never found academic writing to be useful just tedious. Only ever writing when I had too made it harder for my writing skills to grow or improve in any way. I have not taken an English class since the 10th grade, even then I never gave it much effort, just doing what I had to so I could pass the class. Then I jump in to College English 1010, I feel like I do well in all other subjects but this one. English is my worst nightmare.
Over the course of this semester I learned a lot about myself as a writer. This English 101 class has really allowed me to expand my essay structure and ways of thinking. This was my first college writing course and it has given me much more freedom when writing because in high school I felt limited and like what we were writing was not very important. In high school I would write essays to just to fulfill the required word or page count and to a degree I still feel like this but maybe that is why I am an engineering major but in this course I actually was able to express my ideas and for the first time really test the limits of my writing capabilities. I really enjoyed being able to incorporate my voice more in my essays and I believe that I developed my own personal style a bit from this. At the beginning of the semester my writing was quite choppy and there was plenty of room for improvement in the overall flow of my essays. Now, I use several different tactics such as outlining to create better connections between paragraphs. I believe I was able to move beyond many of the high school ways of writing and make general improvements to my essays.
The closure of a tumultuous, long-term relationship helped shape me as a writer, because I realized that I hadn’t even been on my own long enough to know what I wanted or who I was. I fell in love with eloquent and inspirational words, and I began journaling to express myself. I found that scribbling down my thoughts helped mold me into a better writer each time I did so.
For as long as I can remember, I have had interesting situations with reading and write. Like everyone, it started with one word like mom or dad. While trying to learn, letter and number, some television shows would be the perfect way to learn. Just as my parents currently encourage me to take on any challenging opportunity, they also always took the opportunity to challenge me in my childhood as an attempt to broaden my skills and knowledge. Because my mom was from Ecuador, her entire side of the family spoke Spanish to each other.
This year was a true test to my abilities as a writer. Until my last year of middle school, I could not write. In eighth grade, I was forced to learn how. I was drilled with grammar, and I was tasked with multiple essays. This year, I was able to take the skills I learned in eighth grade and put them to the test.
People say that if you let go your burden emotions, you will feel relieved. They suggest me to verbally communicate with people. That is what I am not comfortable with doing. I am frustrated inside. Then, I will pick a pen, a notebook, and write to let go of what I am holding. Once I am done throwing away my feelings and experiences in my notebook, I feel like I can breathe properly again and my smile will never fade. Writing gets my creative juices flowing and helps me to come face to face with my struggles and anxieties. It forces me to find a solution to my problem. It helps me to cope. It sometimes gives me an outlet for all my negative emotions. Therefore, writing is like a mother’s love to me. It takes all my problem within itself, calms me down and suggests me to solve my problem like every mother
Writing was not one of my most favorite things to do when I was was younger, but I did enjoy reading. I actually did enjoy writing when I was was younger, but I was not good at it. Two people have impacted and shaped my attitude towards writing in both a positive and negative way, and I enjoyed reading at a young age because it helped me escape from the real world. In my junior year of high school I took AP English with my teacher Mrs. White.
I am not, by any means, a Shakespeare, Stephen King, or John Grisham. It would take enormous amounts of time, practice, and effort to be considered a long shot at a Pulitzer Prize. Yet, I intend to progress my writing by setting more achievable goals, building on new ideas, and developing new skills. Also, I will use the advice of instructors and peers, and draw from previous writing experiences to mold this and future writing experiences.
The last bell of the day rang seconds after I finished sharing my poem aloud to the class. I stood amid the scrambling of hands putting their notebooks into their backpacks, among the shouts across class, “Wait for me so we can sit together on the bus!”, and amidst the shoving of twenty bodies moving toward one door. I crumpled my poem and threw it into the trashcan on the way out of class. Well, that was entirely anticlimactic, I thought, even more than I previously imagined it would be.
When I was younger I was a very difficult student. Throughout pre school and junior kindergarten I found it challenging to do school work and sit still, so my mom decided to homeschool me. From what I could remember it was really beneficial for me. I could have breakfast with my mom and we would learn together and she would make it fun and so much more enjoyable, until “journaling” time. My mom believes that the best form of communication and self expression is through writing, whether that be a letter or a journal or even making lists, my mom was very keen on writing.
Writing is an arduous task. It demands great effort and mastery of the language and of the topic that you are writing. I find writing as something that is both terrifying and exciting at the same time. Writing has always been a challenge for me, but I also feel the ecstatic whenever I get hold of a pen. Sometimes, I stumble over words, but I smile the sweet scent of satisfaction whenever I capture the ideas that I have and watch it take shape in the paper.
Thinking back to my first day of my senior year in high school, I remember how much dread filled me whenever I thought about the upcoming year in English IV. Now, one semester through this class, it is not nearly as bad as I was told it would be. I am not a great writer, and I knew that coming in. However, I really wanted to challenge myself my senior year so I would not slack off and take all of the “easy” classes. Yes, I thought this class would be a challenge, but I did not imagine that it would challenge me this much.
I have always felt out of place in the writing world. Whether it be for school projects or trying to think of stories at home, I never had felt that feeling of whatever I just wrote was a paper worth reading. When I was younger, it seemed like everyone was just a natural writer, their ideas flowing from their minds to their fingers without a second thought. Effortlessly writing entire essays while I was in the corner still trying to think of a thesis statement. However I think one the times I have never felt more disconnected to what I was writing was during English Festival.
When I was 11 years old, I wrote and published a book. While not exactly a book of any real merit, it is a book nonetheless. Of course, my work did not appear on bookstore shelves, major or otherwise, was never present at book clubs, critiqued, or discussed in any way. It is, however, an ever present reminder of an accomplishment that, since its “publication” in 2006, has a place of honor on my bookshelf. Although I must mention that the book was originally a class project and, as such, there are no other copies except the one I own.