I Am a Writer
Writing for me has not always come so easily. The first essay I wrote, in French, was about my second grade teacher Mr. Bernard. I was utterly enamored by Mr. Bernard, with his slim black leather tie, pinstriped shirt, styled hair and scent of smoke and cologne. He was my hero; I even took a picture of myself dressed up like him and gave it to him. My first experience with writing was in cursive due to my upbringing in Belgium. When our family moved to the US, I was the only third grader learning how to print and properly cross his T's.
My next memories of writing are of writing raps in high school. I have always been an avid listener of hip-hop music but never really tried it myself. It started with little six-bar rhymes about my supremacy with punch lines, metaphors and criminal mischief. The first real rap I wrote was during my sophomore year. I was riding back from Atlanta in a fifteen passenger van, listening to my newest rap tape. One line caught my ear and I found myself continuing the rhyme on my own. I quickly grabbed a pen and pad and watched my pen ride the paper. In thirty minutes I had written two pages of quality poetry, and it was all my own. I was so excited that I could now create my own rhymes and recite them instead of someone else's. I ended up using the rap for an English project and received good feedback from my teacher. I think it was the praise I received from my teacher that really let me know that what I was doing was worthwhile and self-expressive.
I now have confidence in my ability to write and express myself through words. When I first thought of writing it always had a rigid academic tone to it. Through writing rhymes and numerous essays, I have found it to be fluid and recreational as well. I used to dread sitting down at the Mac for a three hour session of click clack. Now I try to find ways of incorporating my style of writing into all the writing I do.
Moving from the unpleasant life in the old country to America is a glorious moment for an immigrant family that is highlighted and told by many personal accounts over the course of history. Many people write about the long boat ride, seeing The Statue of Liberty and the “golden” lined streets of New York City and how it brought them hope and comfort that they too could be successful in American and make it their home. Few authors tend to highlight the social and political developments that they encountered in the new world and how it affected people’s identity and the community that they lived in. Authors from the literature that we read in class highlight these developments in the world around them, more particularly the struggles of assimilating
...ool to receive an education. However, being new in America, they were apt to make many mistakes, which in some cases proved deadly. In all, their experiences helped them to develop knowledge of their new homeland. They also helped them to make better decisions and better the future for their family.
The meaning of life is to find the meaning of life. Is it not? We all go through each day trying to figure out which road out the infinite amount of paths will lead us in a better direction where happiness is prominent and society is flawless. However, not every single human being is going to fit on that narrow, one-lane highway to success. Bad choices, accidents, fate, family matters, society, temptation, anger, rage, addiction, and loss of hope can all be deciding factors in opting to choose that wrong path to self-destruction. The adverse thing is, once you've traveled so far down the road, you get so discouraged that you feel like you can never turn back or make up for the "lost time."
Over the past year I have grown as both a person and a writer. My writing has improved
My relationship with writing has been much like roller coaster.Some experiences I had no control over. Other experiences were more influential. Ultimately it wasn’t until I started reading not because I had to read but because I wanted to, that's when my relationship reached change. I would have probably never cared about writing as I do today if it weren't for the critics in my family. When I was a child, my aunts and uncles always been in competition with who's child is better in school. I have always hated reading and writing because of the pressure to prove my family wrong was overwhelming for me. I had to prove them wrong and show them that I was capable of being "smart" which according to them was getting straight A's in all your classes.
I can still remember that small enclosed, claustrophobic room containing two armed chairs and an old, brown, paisley print couch my dad and I were sitting on when he told me. “The doctors said there was little to no chance that your mother is going to make it through this surgery.” Distressed, I didn’t know what to think; I could hardly comprehend those words. And now I was supposed to just say goodbye? As I exited that small room, my father directed me down the hospital hallway where I saw my mother in the hospital bed. She was unconscious with tubes entering her throat and nose keeping her alive. I embraced her immobile body for what felt like forever and told her “I love you” for what I believed was the last time. I thought of how horrific it was seeing my mother that way, how close we were, how my life was going to be without her, and how my little sisters were clueless about what was going on. After saying my farewells, I was brought downstairs to the hospital’s coffee shop where a million things were running
The dust mostly comes from farming and the agricultural the farmers learned to keep their crops healthy and looking good to eat. (Methods Prevent Another Dust Bowl) "From the perspective of agricultural changes, irrigation was huge" (About The Dust Bowl) The agricultural devastation helped to lengthen the Depression whose effects were felt worldwide. Poor agricultural practices and years of sustained drought caused the Dust Bowl. But since the Dust Bowl, many farmers have figured out new ways that would not make the Dust Bowl comeback ever
Having dust in the air as you breathe is also something very hazardous. The more dust, the more people had trouble breathing. Dust would make people choke, and the dilicia particles ...
Writing is something that always came relatively easy to me. I was not the best student in High School, though that was primarily due to my lack of effort and enthusiasm. I was certainly capable of doing the work, though baseball and Atari always seemed to come first. But with writing, I was most often able to produce the quality of work my parents expected of me in a short and painless amount of time.
As these few tales reveal, my memories of writing are strongly connected with the intense emotions I felt as I grew up. They are filled with joy, disappointment, boredom, and pride. I believe that each of these experiences has brought me to where I am today. I can only look to the future and hope that my growth will continue, and my writing will reflect those changes within me. As a writer, I have grown immeasurably and will continue to so long as I can find some paper and a pencil.
When it comes to writing in any English Class, I had to learn and remember that my style of writing matters in anything I do. It sometimes makes me overthink my writing in general on what I am writing about. You think you remember grammar and the style of writing in elementary through high school, but when you enter college life you are getting more in depth into writing. It sometimes troubled me on when and where you should have commas and a little bit with transitions. Writing was my favorite subject in elementary school, but when I entered college my Freshmen year it thrown me off a bit, but I think as I got more into writing it help me out a whole lot more. I hoping the changes that I make to my writing is writing more often, read through
A woman’s quality of life in ancient times was not very appealing in any era, especially when compared to some of modern day societies. The lack of freedom and equality for women is apparent in all of the ancient civilizations. Women in Ancient Greece had the least amount of freedoms between Egypt and the Roman Empire. Roman women held a higher status amongst the men than that of the Greek women. Egyptian women had the most freedom and equality of the ancient world. If I were a woman and could choose my origin, I would have to choose Ancient Egypt as the place and time period of my existence.
I personally do not enjoy writing like most people would feel about reading a dictionary. I am cautiously treading water with every word I type. I have always found writing to be a tedious process. I have never found ease in wording something the way I want to; therefore, it usually sounds so much better in my head. I’ve never considered myself to be comfortable with writing in general. For example, I always had a hard time telling if I needed a comma in a sentence or not. Sometimes it was obvious, but it seems more confusing most of the time.
Most of my writings have been those of the classroom assignment variety. The assignments consist of free writes, essays, research and term papers, but none of these come to mind as an experience worth noting. I never had a writing published or received any type of an award. I seldom did any wrtiting out of school, or writing for leisure as some might say. The bottom line is, I just don't have te time to write for leisure, with a full time job, attending night school, and raising two children, my day are consumed rapidly. If I did have the time to sit down and write, I'm not sure that I would write. I keep most of my thoughts to myself, not on paper. Although it does feel nice to express my thoughts and feelings onto the page. I can see my thoughts unfold, and I can organize them to develop new ideas.
I learned to write like most people did. It was a skill passed on to me by my family. My Grandpa taught me how to write. When I was 3 and 4 years old I did not go to preschool like most kids my age did. Instead each day before work my mom would drop me off at my Grandpa’s house and he would look after me and teach me the things I would need to know to start kindergarten, these days spent at his house were referred to as “Grandpa’s school”. Each day I sat down at the kitchen table and used a stencil to practice my letters. This instilled in me a love for writing.