I felt my stomach drop as I digested what she had just said. Cliff’s Pasture was the ranch’s largest pasture and spanned a good hundred acres. I realized, as my stomach churned as if I had just eaten a greasy fast food meal, that the original gate opening that I had so promptly closed had actually been supposed to be open. I knew we were supposed to go to Three Acre but I didn’t realize that particular field was Three Acres. I thought someone had forgotten to close it while out checking…
police,” I said to Latria before I hung up. Trent was standing in the doorway when I walked onto the front porch. He opened the door for me, and I walked by him like he was invisible. “Come on Lyric. Aren’t you going to talk to me?” He asked. My original plan was to ignore him but he continued to pester me until it happened. I hit Trent upside the head with the baby monitor. As he held the back of his head I told him exactly how I felt “Don’t you understand, I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t…
quickly then I normally would. I think that using this method is a great starting point for writers who are in the early stages if drafting to get over the initial fear of writing a story and just get words onto the page. However, having to write in a way that keeps the scene sticking to the scene and sequel outline has resulted writing the scene in a way that makes Adrika’s distress and needed for control in a way that is very obvious to the reader. Thus I have fallen into the trap of showing instead…
my desk to finish our weekly homework assignments. We got into the habit of finishing all of our work by Friday evening so that we could have lives on the weekends. “Woo! Hallelujah I am done!” Tegan cheered. “If I don’t get an A on my Kinesiology essay then that’ll prove my theory that Brewster is racist.” I rolled my eyes, “Both you and Professor Brewster are white.” “Whatever.” She dismissed me. “Just hurry up and finish whatever it is you’re working on so we can go party!” “Actually, I was kind…
read it. I always read James’ and my grandfather’s notes. Little did I know I have subconsciously almost lived Joe and Me. There is a lot of common area, to much to go into detail, but the fact is and why I wrote this essay is because not only did I find my love for reading and writing but I have carried on my grandpa’s wish. There is one underlying factor that lies in all of this and that is the story of friendship and a promise. To Grandpa Don, Thank you for everything you have ever done for me…
doesn’t matter.” Actual words that came out of my friend’s mouth. Weren’t friends supposed to be happy that you were happy? So I shut up about TJ, I stopped sharing the goofy stories. I know that story probably doesn’t seem very relevant to what this essay is about, but it stands out in my mind. One of our problems is that people, for whatever reason, think our friendship is weird, awkward, and even bad? TJ was kind of my only friend there for a while, and they didn’t understand it. They thought I was…
about how you felt today.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and soft brown shapes and grey spots swim across my gaze. “Today I felt very anxious.” My chest tightens, and I open my eyes. “I-uh- I was having thoughts...” My voice trails off. The doctor begins writing on his clipboard. “What kind of thoughts? Can you describe them?” “I wanted to kill someone.” “That’s why you’re here,” says the doctor. He is still smiling slightly. “But can you give me some more details? Just so I can really understand how you…
minutes. Emilia 's competition solo was stunning, as usual. She 'd eventually scrapped The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy in favour of A Swan is Born, Clint Mansell 's darker, angrier take on Tchaikovsky 's Swan Lake. It was the complete opposite of her original choreography, which had left Mme Deschamps scrambling to help her put together a new routine in just over four weeks. The day of the competition, Emilia had commanded attention onstage in a sequined black leotard, black platter tutu, and a tight…
before too long that I was simply writing for my own pleasure without having to be assigned anything from a teacher. Eventually, these writings found their way in a large collection of journals that I’ve continued to write in over the years. With a blank sheet of paper as well as a pen, an entire world can be created or destroyed. Just like anything practiced over a given length of time, a personal style is developed. With many influences in the world of writing my primary teachers were authors…
to take it, for I’m not a fan of writing essays. I’m glad I took this class, though, for a couple of reasons: one it was online, it was in the middle of the summer, and then the course was stretched over an 8-week course. I came in here just trying to get my credit for my major, but I’ve taken into liking of some of the authors we’ve covered and check out some of their works after this course. I would say or like to think, that I’ve become better and writing my essay, also become easier to write. I…