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Reading and writing experiences
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Recommended: Reading and writing experiences
I write stories about my life: characters I come across, situations I encounter, lessons I learn. Writing brings my life into focus. Once it’s on the page, I begin to understand the throughlines of my experience. Every artist has a way of describing how the muse comes to them. For me, words live in an invisible river. I can’t see it, but I can always feel it flowing around me. For the longest time, I fished three minute stories in the form of songs out of the river. Several years ago, however, I cast my net and to my surprise it was full of much longer narratives. Since then, I have focused on developing my craft as a creative nonfiction writer.
My favorite authors are those who explore their lives, even the darkest corners of their experience, with humor, wit, and verve, authors like David Sedaris, who cuts right to the heart of the human condition
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I desire multi-disciplinary exploration, so the fact that the UC Riverside’s Low Residency MFA puts an emphasis on this is attractive to me. I visited a residency in December of 2016 and was impressed by the workshop format. The critiques given by both the students and the faculty were insightful, specific, and instructive. There was no judgement of the writer, just a sincere effort to make the work as good as it could possibly be. Support for creative exploration was palpable in the room. It felt like the exact environment I want to write in. In addition, I’m attracted to the program’s focus on real world application and helping students succeed after graduation. Of course, the excellent faculty is a draw. I am particularly interested to work with Rob Roberge. His punk rock ethos and his ability to be heartbreakingly honest speaks to me. The strong writing community and ability to work on The Coachella Review are enticing as
Writing As Re-vision: A Student's Anthology (pp. 108-111). Needham Heights, MA: Simon & Schuster Custom Publishing
Barnet, Sylvan, William Burto and William E. Cain. Literature for Composition. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Pearson, 2014.
One of the main reasons I was inspired to participate was because of the benefits it provided for the students. This particular institute focused on engineering. Not only do I have a passion for reading and writing but I am fortunate enough to also be good at math and science. What I learned from the program was career exploration when
I will learn how to build a narrative and edit the final product. I will have the chance to write about the environment or politics. All of these experiences will be spent in small classes with practicing journalists who can teach the nuances of the craft. The two-year program is a commitment, but I will be rewarded by my coursework, my Master’s project, and my writing experience. Only then will I be ready to enter the professional world and tell the stories that cannot be ignored.
Last but not least, I’m looking forward to the experiential learning in Washington, DC and Norwalk, CT, and the connection with global professional services firms and alumni network, which will be powerful and invaluable help for my future
R.L. Stines is another author I studied and who greatly influenced my writing thereafter. I loved reading his books. His imagination was unworldly. It was slightly spooky but he understood his audience so he never crossed that line. Imagine the voice a child telling a campfire story to his friends hoping to frighten them at the
My perception and/or experience in a writing class I am afraid to say has been non-existent. Everything I have learned in the past and current has been self-taught. It has been at least 20 years or more since I have stepped foot inside a classroom. Memories are like an old photograph if not preserved, they tend to fade with time as so have my own memories of a time that seems long forgotten. I am an avid reader of various book from all different genres.
I enjoy writing and am confident in my abilities as a writer, using proper grammar, being organized with my ideas and having a broad vocabulary. Writing is a practice, and although I am confident in my abilities, there are certain aspects with which I struggle. The biggest aspect that I struggle with is transitioning between either sentences or paragraphs. I find it difficult to find the right words to piece the sentences or paragraphs together. Another difficulty is my precision or my level of abstraction.
My first encounter with literature was unexpected. Spending five years in elementary school, I never showed much interest in small readings and poems that were assigned in class. As a matter of fact, having to memorize and analyze literary works that I did not like was a boring, mentally arduous process to me. “In desert and wilderness” by Henryk Sienkiewicz, however, changed my perspective towards both reading and writing in general. While waiting for my cousin to buy his books before taking me to a new restaurant near home, I roved around the bookstore when Henryk Sienkiewicz’s “In desert and wilderness” suddenly popped into my eyes.
I pride myself in being an avid reader and okay writer; my family does not agree with me. I can read a two-hundred page book in about four to five hours depending on my mood and whether I take breaks. I wrote an essay for a competition that goes from chapter level to state level to national level; I got first until national level, where I was in the top twenty, making it so for the whole competition I was in the top half of the top one percent. However, I do not see myself as a good writer. This does not explain why I think that; my experiences with reading are far different than my experiences with writing.
From a young age, I knew that I was an exceptional student. Most teachers usually nominated me to be the “Student of the Month” because of my straight A’s and positive attitude in class. However, as I progressed throughout school, I found students who excelled at the things I didn’t -- especially English -- which is when I became discouraged about my writing. As a result, my views on my writing abilities began to change. Due to my English teacher’s constant guidance and support, my writing skills began to progress further, causing my love for literacy to develop.
When I was about 4 years old, my family was on our annual trip to Mexico, and I remember staying at my grandmother's house, and her going to her chest of drawers and pulling out a worn out book. She told me to sit down, and that she was going to read me a story she would read to my brother and sister when they were smaller. I honestly don’t remember any of the details about the book but what I could remember that the book was so worn out that it was held together by pieces of tape. Even though I may not have understood half of the things that were in the book at the time, that was my first encounter with reading that I could think of. After that, every time I saw a book with pictures, I would “read” it to myself, by saying to myself
My writing has always been unsteady, and I’ve come to accept that it always might be. Ideas always come in waves, in sparks, but they never stay. Ideas come, and I write them down on the closest piece of paper or homework. There are times when I’ll be sitting with groups of friends, then silently take out my phone and type. As the world passes normally to them, I’m stuck in time and swimming in ideas.
Though writing can be fun and creative, it is not really my best skill. Writing can be very challenging for me but also some time where I can write out my deepest thoughts. Through the years of writing, being given multiple assignments from classes can make it seem boring or challenging. Having to go by a certain format to focus on or even limiting all to one subject. Honestly, it wouldn’t really bother me that much since I would quickly go through the assignment.
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.