At the start of the quarter, my instructor, Stephanie asked me to write a paragraph about my goal in the end of this class, English 101, although I hated writing a lot, but I still wrote that I wanted to be a "good writer." At that time, when I was using the words "good writer," I did not completely have any definition about it. I only wanted to get the average score to pass this subject. However, through this quarter, now I've known what it is defined and how to be a good writer as well. From the first to the last essay, my writing skills are getting better and better time by time.
Once the papers started to come in my life started getting harder in school I tried anything to get out of writing essays and short stories. After a while it became a giving to me, my teacher started to noticing my writing telling me I am getting better
Personal to Political Essay English 111 has surprisingly been an interesting journey. In the beginning it was not even possible to see an end to it, and now that we are a quarter way through, it is hard to simply recall the beginning. I have gained a great deal of knowledge from being enrolled in this class and that is something I am definitely grateful for. I have learned both about myself and about those around me. I have learned about writing of course, but I have learned more than I have in past English courses.
Ever since I have taken a higher English class such as AP it became more challenging for me. As such the class need good writing skill beyond my capabilities, and causes me to struggle once again. Despite the setback, I shall not give up on such an issue; I definitely make my writing skill become better. Therefore I begin write to the best of my abilities and often ask other people around to help peer editing my essay. After many try of writing an essay, I got better understanding of what to fix when write and quickly know to make my own sentence sound best.
As they say, everything deteriorates if they are no longer used. However, I could still feel the fire of passion burning beneath my veins. Every time I am handed a writing assignment which catches my attention and interest, I think about the writing assignment a lot. Sort of like this paper I am writing now wherein I am asked to include my writing history. It has been like digging through deep oblivion where dreams and memories are torn away from us.
Although I hadn’t yet become comfortable writing about my past during the first few quarters of school, I enjoyed writing for academic growth. I enjoyed analyzing and debating the issues, reflecting on books we had read, or just journaling my thoughts about the day. It wasn’t until my second year at Evergreen that I was able to revisit some of my past experiences and childhood memories by writing a required memoir for one of my classes. This process was very difficult, and I found myself re-writing over and over again. The experience, although very painful has sparked a desire in me to tell my life
I’ve always had a hard time turning in any homework and this is the year I need to start doing it. I think by doing these things I will meet my goal of graduating. Another goal I would like to me this year would to improve my essay writing skills. I’ve never had a real hard time with essays but there is always room for improvement. In English this year I will have to
And although writing is hard because there are thousands of rules to follow, we are encouraged to set aside those so-called rules, write rhetorically, make a breakthrough and try something new. To me, the most useful “metaphoric musing” is the “use your higher brain” one. Writing last-minute essay and mind going blank are just my stories. Under such stressful situation, I can’t write anything that really represents
I’ve learned in my past years of reading and writing is that there is no perfect way to do it. It took me a lot of practice to be able to overcome my worst fear of learning how to read. I never thought being a bad reader would have happened to me, but it did. I learned that if I set my mind to becoming a better reading it would happen, which it
What a punishment this paper was, I thought. If I didn’t like writing before I damn sure didn’t now. With the thought of losing recess ever present on my mind, I continued to work on my paper. It was during this time that I started to view writing, not as something fun or a chance to be creative, but as a chore. It was something I was forced to do as a punishment.