RevisionofSnapshotpaper - LaurelUnderwood ProfessorHerb ENG109 2December2013 MyMemoriesofWriting .Iamnodifferent .,a

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Unformatted text preview: Laurel Underwood Professor Herb ENG 109 2 December 2013 My Memories of Writing Most people look back on their childhood memories with fondness. I am no different. Images of loving families’ and friends’ faces fly past in my mind. Along with all these people, a large percentage of my memories come from when I was in school. Playing on the playground during recess, passing notes to friends, and Friday pizza day were all highlights. School came easy to me both socially and academically. The only fault for me was my writing. It was horrid and I was continuously battling with ways to improve it. My combat with writing left many lasting memories of my struggles with the English language, but in the end it gave me more confidence in my writing and myself. I can remember my trials with learning English, even from elementary school… I can hear myself breathing hard from the anxiety that feels like it is choking me. Standing in line, I am praying silently, don’t let me be the first one, don’t let me be the first one. Classmate after classmate steps up to the podium and recites the letters of the word given to them. Everyone seems calm, some even bored. No one knows how I have spent hours at home staring at a jumble of letters until they start to look alien. There is only one person in front of me left. I can feel my hands start to shake and sweat, my stomach clench, and I feel like I could pass out any second now. Now there is only space in between myself and that dreaded stand. The teacher smiles at me encouragingly, knowing I struggle with this. “Window”, she states, “spell window”. Window, I think a simple word. I have seen this word many times, I can spell this. “W­I­N­O­W” I say with nervous confidence. The teacher shakes her head gently, her dark brown curls barely moving. I got it wrong and go to sit back in my seat. Wishing I could disappear, I try not to be upset. As I grew up English continued to be a struggle for me, that is until middle school… Walking into the classroom, I can feel the eyes staring at me. Soon the whispers start, who is the new girl they ask. A room full of unknown other preteens stare at me, judging. Starting at a new school was not something I was planning to do my 8th grade year. The teacher walks up to me and I vaguely remember him saying his name was Mr.Varga. He was going to be my new English teacher and to find any open seat, he wasn’t picky on where we wanted to sit. He looked different from all the other English teachers I was used to: he was young, thin, and energetic. That first day I didn’t learn much, I was too nervous to remember my own name that day, but the rest of the year was an eye opener. Mr. Varga quickly picked up that I was not strong in my writing capabilities. He often had me stay after class to go over a paper or hand me extra worksheets. No teacher had ever spent so much of their extra time trying to help me learn a concept. Grammar books filled with rainbows of highlighter colors, eraser marks, and words crossed out viciously filled my desk. I spent twice as much time on my writing that year than I ever had before, clocking in more hours typing at a computer than a person who worked a full time job. Mr. Varga was with me the whole way, always full of encouragement or praise. His positive energy about my writing potential made me want to become the best I could. I can remember the smiles on both of our faces at the end of the year when I received an “A” on the final paper, knowing I had earned it. As you can see my attitude about writing had greatly improved and attending high school only raised these feelings… I can see Mrs.Heinschel sitting in the desk where she grades presentations. She has tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Laurel, so much for sharing that with us”, my teacher says from the back of the classroom. As I walk back to my seat I can see the shock in other students’ faces about what I had just read. After class, many students come up to me and tell me that my essay was beautiful and that if really affected them. My essay was about my best friend. We worked together in the summer at a country club. It was our dream job, we both golfed and the work was easy. Life was easy for the first couple of weeks until a manager starting making sexual comments towards her. These actions escalated throughout the summer and she soon become lost and scared. Watching every moment of this, having no idea how to help, was painful. All I could do was support her through every moment of agony. When I heard we would be writing essays that would be shared with the class I knew I wanted to write about this. Writing until my eyes hurt from staring at the laptop screen glare compared to the darkness of the house at night, I spent hours on this essay. This paper had to be perfect, every emotion and detail I wanted shared. Seeing my friend go through this situation and not know what to do made me want to do something to help others that had dealt with sexual harassment. I didn’t know how many people this kind of situation has happened to, but I wanted to let them know they were not alone. This paper seemed like the perfect opportunity to send a message to a group of people, even if it was just one class. I ended up getting an “A” on the essay but that is not why it’s the paper I am the most proud of. My writing affected people, it sent a message. My classmates seemed greatly affected and I can only hope that if any of them go through anything like my experience they will not feel so alone. This essay made me realise writing can be more powerful than a person could believe, it can change lives. Looking back on my memories, I feel proud. Writing was not something that came easy to me but something that I struggled with and worked on. As much effort that I did put into my writing, these memories show that I can not take all the credit. I had some amazing people help me get to where I am today and I will never forget them. They shaped my writing and myself. Their pushing and encouraging led me to focus more on my writing and English skills. Today I could not be more grateful for all of it as it lead me to have more confidence in my writing and my life. These people made everlasting memories and left an everlasting effect on my writing. ...
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