I stand in the stationary section of Walmart looking at journals. The shelves tower over me as I take in the possibilities that await for me on this quest. The journals that catch my eye are not the standard compositions, but the red ones, blue ones, and the colorful Lisa Franks. I continue to the pens; only the most colorful would do. My eyes rake across each package until I come across the one that I know is the most powerful tool the world has to offer. As I look at my full hands, I know these are the weapons I will use to conquer the world. This is the start of my journey.
My nine-year old body wasn’t prepared for the intense training that would follow. Writing until my fingers had blisters, writing until I had to sharpen my sword, writing until the teacher said I did enough writing, and then still writing more. I wrote in journals filled with any story idea that attacked my conscience until it’s thundering call was heard on paper. Paper was the medium I used to transform tangible thoughts into excellence. Pencils became the spark to my imagination set ablaze; my fingers couldn’t …show more content…
“Add dialogue. Bring your essay to LIFE.” I worked twice as hard. Until I cramped both my hands, until I couldn't read my own writing, until I bled ink. I developed a dream in that class: to become the best writer in the world. To achieve this absolute, I will be accepted into Northwestern. In the fall, I will study with my whole being, staying up until 3:00am as I battle my drooping eyelids in the race against time. Every night, my dorm room will become a battlefield covered by mountains of crumpled up paper, empty bottles of elixir, and broken swords as my fingers continue to write until my story is the best I’ve ever written. In June of 2022, years of hard work will become ingrained in a single piece of paper. When I stand in front of my comrades, the civilians, and my superiors, giving the speech I wrote with ease, I will know I have become the
My nine-year old body wasn’t prepared for the intense training that would follow. Writing until my fingers had blisters, writing until I had to sharpen my sword, writing until the teacher said I did enough writing, and then still writing more. I wrote in journals filled with any story idea that attacked my conscience until it’s thundering call was heard on paper. Paper was the medium I used to transform tangible thoughts into excellence. Pencils became the spark to my imagination set ablaze; my fingers couldn’t …show more content…
“Add dialogue. Bring your essay to LIFE.” I worked twice as hard. Until I cramped both my hands, until I couldn't read my own writing, until I bled ink. I developed a dream in that class: to become the best writer in the world. To achieve this absolute, I will be accepted into Northwestern. In the fall, I will study with my whole being, staying up until 3:00am as I battle my drooping eyelids in the race against time. Every night, my dorm room will become a battlefield covered by mountains of crumpled up paper, empty bottles of elixir, and broken swords as my fingers continue to write until my story is the best I’ve ever written. In June of 2022, years of hard work will become ingrained in a single piece of paper. When I stand in front of my comrades, the civilians, and my superiors, giving the speech I wrote with ease, I will know I have become the