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So I don’t know what to write for this. Instead of coming up with something actually decent to write about I’m just going to write whatever comes to mind while i'm writing this. I don’t know if I’ll actually keep this but I will definitely finish writing the 400 words because even if I decide to not hand this in I need something to show on Friday and since you just check for a piece of paper with words on it and don’t actually read I can write whatever I want right now and if I decide to I can just rewrite the whole thing before we hand in the full journal.
So right now I’m watching (listening) to a livestream of five people playing a game called Pinturillo. Basically the game works by giving one person a word and then they have to draw it. While their drawing it the rest of the people try to guess the word. For some reason a bunch of them decided to try and incorporate a snowman into the drawing. The are also talking about random stuff the whole time such as mayo sandwiches, whether arachnids halve fangs or mandibles, and
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On tuesdays I have practice playing with the group of people that I play music with at 7:00 and i usually leave around 6:30. Normally if my mom is working later like she is this week she will pick up something like pizza because there isn’t much time for her to make anything for supper before I leave. Anyways on tuesday this week she got home at six and I came came out to ask her when super would be ready at 6:15. She said she just had to wait for the potatoes to be cooked so I asked her how long that would be and she said half an hour. I was like you know i need to leave in half an hour right? Apparently she forgot it was tuesday which i guess is understandable because monday was a holiday. Anyways I ended up having to make myself a chicken wrap to eat real quick before I left. By the way this has to do with porkchops because thats what we were having with the
I’ve decided that for my second journal entry I’m going to discuss how I feel about the
After already sharing my thoughts of my family, and myself, I felt as though neither of my favorite personal interests would accomplish the task at hand. It was Saturday afternoon, and I still didn’t have a good personal interest topic to write about. I started mind-mapping, writing every topic I could think of, including: The Real Civil War; Mental Instability – Possession or Illness; Finding the Perfect Home – Mortgage and All; and even The lightning Capital: Why Here? Then I realize I must dismantle the subject, so as to fit it on only 3 or 4 pages. The project is becoming a lot tougher than I anticipated; I start scratching out ideas. A half hour later, I have a page with many scribbles, no topics, confusion, and thirst. I walk swiftly and irritably, to the refrigerator, open the door, and grab a cold, wet, Coors Light, tall can. I found my personal interest topic. There in my hand, I was holding history: “The Rise and Fall, Literally, of Adolph Coors.
The sandlot was a vacant lot we especially used for unorganized sports. It was a place during my childhood years where I could go and not have a worry on my mind, except being with my best friends and playing some baseball. The lot was a place where the memories of endless fun and games took place. I can still hear the voices of neighbors yelling at us to go home because of the tennis balls we hit against their houses and off their windows. To us the sandlot was better than Wrigley Field, nothing else could compare to all the times we had there.
My analysis over the development of my writing throughout this semester. I will assess many aspects of my experiences with English 1301 up to this point in the semester. I will explain the ways by which I have blossomed as a writer during this time. I will provide brief examples of my work to show what I am basing the evaluation of my writing on. What my conceptions of writing were, at the start of, the semester and compare it to what they are now. I will clarify how my work this semester reflects the concepts of writing and reading we have been working on and studying in class. I will tell about what and how particular reading assignments have been influential in my growth of creative ideas. Lastly, my interpretation of what it means to be a writer, and how my experiences this semester has influenced my opinion on writing.
As my father and I finally fit the statue of the little Virgin Mary in the back of the car, it was time to get on the road. I could already taste the guavas from my great grandfather’s ranch. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The smell of my aunt’s cooking. Hearing the excitement of my great grandmother’s voice. I wanted to be there already, be in the beautiful country of Mexico. My thoughts wandered as we left my house. How much welcome, love, and the sadness of leaving was going to happen. It was too soon to find out.
Writing 150 has been a truly enjoyable course for me. While I have always loved language and literature, this class gave me a fresh, new perspective on what it means to be a writer. From the very first class, I was redefining what writing means to me and how I could use it in my life, even if my career path isn’t centered around writing. As the semester comes to a close, I want to share with you which paper was my favorite from this course, how my identity as a writer has changed, and how I will approach future writing tasks with a new and improved writing process.
The author I choose for my first journal entry is Joyce Carol Oates. After the several short stories and poems I have read over the last couple of weeks, Oates’s work has stood out and stuck with me. Oates biography connects to her work in several ways. She has published more than one hundred works, and her stories cover a multitude of topics such as domestic violence and daily life. ( 792-793; vol 2) After numerous inquiries as to why Oates’s work is so violent, Oates’s published an article in The New York Times in 1981 stating, “When I point out that, in fact, my writing isn’t usually explicitly violent but deals, most of the time, with the phenomenon of violence and its aftermath, in ways not unlike those of the Greek Dramatists; when I point out that, in any case, writing is language and, in a very important sense, is more “about” language than “about” a subject- the interviewer will not nod, and take notes, and inquire about my childhood: Was it tragic? Have you been frightened by life?” (Oates, “Why Is Your Writing So Violent).
I am Estefania Perez. I am a first generation Mexican-American college student. Growing up we did not have many luxuries. However, my family and I were fortunate enough to take a few trips to Mexico. We stayed in my grandparent’s farm, a remote rural area 45minutes away from the closest city. The houses are still made out of adobe and the night sky is brighter than any city. This is the place where I fell in love with simplicity and where my appetite for adventure was triggered. During my stay I was free to roam the country without any worry but with curiosity, something I couldn’t have back in Chicago. As I grew older and enhanced my education I kept looking back at my travels and knew they held something meaningful but I wasn’t certain what
From a young age, I was very curious. Curiosity caused my mind to see everything from a different perspective than most. I saw what could be improved and how I could improve. For example, when it came to editing movies, I was always able to see what could how it could have been better or I questioned how they had created it. My curiosity led me to try many different activities throughout high school, such as film camps, stage managing for plays, yearbook, and even creating videos for Rochester High School’s awards day. Finally, my junior year, I decided it was time I made films of my own for competitions. I wanted to have something that I could call my own. When it came to the two films I did for contests, I was there throughout the whole process.
He also said that the pizza, as well as listening to women talk, helped aid the idea that food would be the best way to interest women to play his game and into the arcade. He called the game Puckman-after the word paku paku in Japanese which describes the motion of opening and closing the
The alarm clock wakes me up around 7:30 a.m. The sun is already trying to sneak into my room. I do not think that El Paso has a much time living in the darkness. The scintillating sun does not leave until 9 p.m.
Dr. D is a cardiothoracic surgeon. He was my hero. He may well still be, even though he is a throw-back to the days when I was more concerned about science than symbolism.
While growing up with my two sisters, me being the oldest one, Sophia, who is the second oldest and Adriana the smallest one out of us three. Even though, we have grown up side by side, share the same parents and live under the same roof. Each and every one of us have different life experience.
Sagan, Miriam. "Exercise your writing muscle; practice these journaling techniques and improve your skills." The Writer July 2002: 38+. General OneFile. Web. 10 Feb. 2011.
Writing this paper has been rewarding to me. It has helped me come to know a different me. Set goals for myself and helped me put things into perspective.