Reflection
“It is necessary ... for a man to go away by himself ... to sit on a rock ... and ask, 'Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?”
– Carl Sandburg
– Carl Sandburg
I have become profoundly fluent in embedding my thoughts on to paper this semester; at the very least, I find it easier than I had in the past. The credit, however, does not solely belong to English 111; in fact, I must credit AP English as well, since these two courses compliment each other effortlessly. I have surely, without a doubt, grown as a writer and as an English student.
Under the care of exceptionally talented educators, I have become cognizant of the fine details one must take into account when constructing a piece of writing. Grammatical fluidity, purpose, organization, figurative language, and style play a vital role in creating a memorable piece, creative or not. My writing’s most common qualities display parallelism, symbolism, personification, similes, metaphors, and alliteration. It is no secret that alliteration has been my most dominant writing tool, aka my special ingredient in writing something noteworthy.
I would like to believe a respectable trait present in my writing lies within the idea that I can “say much with seemingly very little.” In other words, I am adept at using fewer or more complex words in the place of trite and strung-out phrases. However, in a course such as English 111, it is both necessary to expand on thoughts, more so than what I have accustomed myself to doing, and write firmly. I have therefore learned that even the smallest word plays a vital role in defining overall meaning, purpose, tone, and everything else that could possibly alter the significance of a particular piece of writing. My only reservation is that my writing lacks an indescribable “straight-forward” or “candid” quality. I tend to describe aspects far too deeply to retain the attention of an elementary or casual reader. It is also safe to say that my writing needs to work on brevity: a better grasp on controlling sentence variation.
Upon disregarding what needs further attention in my writing, I must applaud myself for the few concepts I have managed to utilize effectively. Although purpose has not always been discernable in my writing, I have recently received accolade from my peers for making the necessary component more pertinent and pronounced in my essays. My work is distinct in that I do not “beat the horse till it is dead,” rather; I address purpose once or twice within a paper, simply providing fluff and substance to substantiate the claim I will later make or have made in my creation. In my compare/contrast essay, the purpose was clearly stated in the title, “death is no different than life: ten feet under vs. underneath the blazing sun.” Towards the end of the opening paragraph I touched on the purpose once more, just so that I could emphasize the overall idea against the compound and complex philosophical concepts I was exploring. In Making Sense Of A Senseless World, I was blatantly obvious in defining the purpose of the definition essay. Since this is a definition piece, it is practically impossible not to be direct; which, as one can imagine, is quite frustratingly aggravating for me.
Something that stood out to me towards the beginning of the semester was Mrs. Erskine’s take on the position of a thesis statement. She stated that it should be placed in the first paragraph and added that only skilled or experienced writers could compose an effective paper with a thesis in the conclusion. Upon hearing her assertation, I decided I would attempt to pen purpose in the end of an essay versus the cookie-cutter first paragraph format commonly practiced. In our first college essay draft of the year, or descriptive essay, I did the same and placed purpose prominently in the final paragraph. In doing so, I was able to expand on settings, themes, and foreshadow the revelation I intended the reader to encounter as they finished my personally inspired narration.
I do not consider myself a “talented” or “good” writer. I know I am simply “decent.” That being said, I would prefer to refer to my style as being a basic imitation of the classic novels I have surrounded myself with. I refuse to state what it is that I am describing and instead I essentially portray what it is I exactly want the reader to view in their mind. I am not a fan of the bland or assisting laziness. I require my readers to think and work because that is what reading should be; reading should throw one into the pages and story itself. I reject the notion of handing readers a script, I require them to inquire and be part of the creative process. My writing style relies on parallelism and flowing, much like how I interpret life. Influenced by writing poetry, I emphasize specific sentence structures in order to set a serious or dire tone, one that will force the reader to feel as intended. In Temporary Travesty, I begin with an exposition of seemingly indistinct space. I repeat negative words such as ‘no,’ ‘not,’ and ‘nothing.’ Personification follows suit, classifying capsules of crude Tylenol as prisoners within an orange plastic prison being freed with overwhelming ecstasy. I chose to depict the medicine positive, so that it could heavily contrast the overall tone of the piece, forming sickening satire.
Being unaware of all the components necessary to write a proper classification essay, I unknowingly wrote You Game, Brah, in second person. Although I normally do not use this perspective, I decided to write something conversational, adding humor and sarcasm. Being a gamer myself, I knew it would be easy to relate to and interesting to any hungry reader. I organized the composition by separating each type of gamer in paragraphs. Short and simple statements made up each section, so I could maintain the attention of a wide array of readers. In Why Emerson, I organized my thoughts through a narrative expanding on different times in my life: present and bits and pieces of specific moments that intensely influenced my path as a student and writer.
Like anything else, writing is a skill that develops over time. Even the most gifted writers must learn so that they may rise to their full potential. Around this time last year, I questioned which English class I should enroll in– in my senior year. I simply could not discern which course would be best for me, let alone make me happiest. I trekked down to Mrs. Silo’s office and discussed the possibility of me enrolling in both AP English Literature & Composition and Dual Enrollment. I was greeted with a sly smile and eyes that revealed both shock upon hearing the extent of my request and the lack of, Mrs. Silo knew me too well.
Together we inquired about the possibilities and drafted a formal request to both the school board and Dr. Reisbeck. I received no rejection; rather, I was relayed advice against the matter on the grounds of the work being too “overwhelming” and “impossible to complete to the best of [my] ability.”
Here I am, practically halfway into the year with success strapped to my back and a vision that promises, “everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
Under the care of exceptionally talented educators, I have become cognizant of the fine details one must take into account when constructing a piece of writing. Grammatical fluidity, purpose, organization, figurative language, and style play a vital role in creating a memorable piece, creative or not. My writing’s most common qualities display parallelism, symbolism, personification, similes, metaphors, and alliteration. It is no secret that alliteration has been my most dominant writing tool, aka my special ingredient in writing something noteworthy.
I would like to believe a respectable trait present in my writing lies within the idea that I can “say much with seemingly very little.” In other words, I am adept at using fewer or more complex words in the place of trite and strung-out phrases. However, in a course such as English 111, it is both necessary to expand on thoughts, more so than what I have accustomed myself to doing, and write firmly. I have therefore learned that even the smallest word plays a vital role in defining overall meaning, purpose, tone, and everything else that could possibly alter the significance of a particular piece of writing. My only reservation is that my writing lacks an indescribable “straight-forward” or “candid” quality. I tend to describe aspects far too deeply to retain the attention of an elementary or casual reader. It is also safe to say that my writing needs to work on brevity: a better grasp on controlling sentence variation.
Upon disregarding what needs further attention in my writing, I must applaud myself for the few concepts I have managed to utilize effectively. Although purpose has not always been discernable in my writing, I have recently received accolade from my peers for making the necessary component more pertinent and pronounced in my essays. My work is distinct in that I do not “beat the horse till it is dead,” rather; I address purpose once or twice within a paper, simply providing fluff and substance to substantiate the claim I will later make or have made in my creation. In my compare/contrast essay, the purpose was clearly stated in the title, “death is no different than life: ten feet under vs. underneath the blazing sun.” Towards the end of the opening paragraph I touched on the purpose once more, just so that I could emphasize the overall idea against the compound and complex philosophical concepts I was exploring. In Making Sense Of A Senseless World, I was blatantly obvious in defining the purpose of the definition essay. Since this is a definition piece, it is practically impossible not to be direct; which, as one can imagine, is quite frustratingly aggravating for me.
Something that stood out to me towards the beginning of the semester was Mrs. Erskine’s take on the position of a thesis statement. She stated that it should be placed in the first paragraph and added that only skilled or experienced writers could compose an effective paper with a thesis in the conclusion. Upon hearing her assertation, I decided I would attempt to pen purpose in the end of an essay versus the cookie-cutter first paragraph format commonly practiced. In our first college essay draft of the year, or descriptive essay, I did the same and placed purpose prominently in the final paragraph. In doing so, I was able to expand on settings, themes, and foreshadow the revelation I intended the reader to encounter as they finished my personally inspired narration.
I do not consider myself a “talented” or “good” writer. I know I am simply “decent.” That being said, I would prefer to refer to my style as being a basic imitation of the classic novels I have surrounded myself with. I refuse to state what it is that I am describing and instead I essentially portray what it is I exactly want the reader to view in their mind. I am not a fan of the bland or assisting laziness. I require my readers to think and work because that is what reading should be; reading should throw one into the pages and story itself. I reject the notion of handing readers a script, I require them to inquire and be part of the creative process. My writing style relies on parallelism and flowing, much like how I interpret life. Influenced by writing poetry, I emphasize specific sentence structures in order to set a serious or dire tone, one that will force the reader to feel as intended. In Temporary Travesty, I begin with an exposition of seemingly indistinct space. I repeat negative words such as ‘no,’ ‘not,’ and ‘nothing.’ Personification follows suit, classifying capsules of crude Tylenol as prisoners within an orange plastic prison being freed with overwhelming ecstasy. I chose to depict the medicine positive, so that it could heavily contrast the overall tone of the piece, forming sickening satire.
Being unaware of all the components necessary to write a proper classification essay, I unknowingly wrote You Game, Brah, in second person. Although I normally do not use this perspective, I decided to write something conversational, adding humor and sarcasm. Being a gamer myself, I knew it would be easy to relate to and interesting to any hungry reader. I organized the composition by separating each type of gamer in paragraphs. Short and simple statements made up each section, so I could maintain the attention of a wide array of readers. In Why Emerson, I organized my thoughts through a narrative expanding on different times in my life: present and bits and pieces of specific moments that intensely influenced my path as a student and writer.
Like anything else, writing is a skill that develops over time. Even the most gifted writers must learn so that they may rise to their full potential. Around this time last year, I questioned which English class I should enroll in– in my senior year. I simply could not discern which course would be best for me, let alone make me happiest. I trekked down to Mrs. Silo’s office and discussed the possibility of me enrolling in both AP English Literature & Composition and Dual Enrollment. I was greeted with a sly smile and eyes that revealed both shock upon hearing the extent of my request and the lack of, Mrs. Silo knew me too well.
Together we inquired about the possibilities and drafted a formal request to both the school board and Dr. Reisbeck. I received no rejection; rather, I was relayed advice against the matter on the grounds of the work being too “overwhelming” and “impossible to complete to the best of [my] ability.”
Here I am, practically halfway into the year with success strapped to my back and a vision that promises, “everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”