I was a restless child. My parents were astonished at how energetic and chatty their skinny, dark hair girl was. It was made clear to my parents that they needed strategies when it came to putting me to bed, and so they began nightly bedtime stories. Bedtime stories signified the closing of the day. Routinely my father would race me to bed and tightly tuck me in (tightly enough so I couldn’t escape). After tuck in he’d lay on my carpet floor and ask me what story I wanted to hear. The books we read together were chapter books, typically of the fantasy and mystery sort, books such as “Island of the Dolphins” or “The great Brian” which are bestsellers. However, my father also had a talent for drumming up stories on the …show more content…
What if my writing wasn’t the wise choice. I began surfing the work of my fellow competitors, was my writing as good as theirs? I felt self-conscious, I was hyper aware of the comments that came from classmates. My stomach sunk as I witnessed the first vote admitted. It wasn’t my piece. I must have experienced the full cycle of grief because I was nearly at the point of acceptance for whatever outcome this competition had to offer until finally I gained a vote. Hope was restored. For the sake of my ripping, beating heart I chose to avert my eyes of others activity and solely focus on my own task. I needed to select a worthy opponents writing so I could rid of my vote. I took this task seriously, analyzing and finally narrowing down my top two pieces. Finally I decided on one and left my vote of choice beside their writing. I went back to my desk and watched in agony as a couple student lingered on choosing a paper. Jitters set in, I wanted this off quickly like a band-aid. The teacher stood up from her seat “Finish up kids, it’s