I didn’t have access to a pen and paper. No ink blots were to be left as stains on my hands and parchment. There were no sticky notes around, no computers or phones to type with, and no notepads to doodle in. It was then that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to think.
At times, the only way I can dissect and delineate my thoughts is to write them down. I’ll have vague ideas in my head, stories sitting on the edge of my tongue, but no way of describing what’s bouncing around inside my head through word of mouth. Continue reading “An Essay For Your Thoughts”→
I honestly thought that I was a terrible writer when I was growing up. I would pick up a few college-rule-lined binder-paper and scribble down whatever popped into my head with a dulled number two pencil, and then hand it in several minutes before class began. The problem with that was that the short five paragraph essay was riddled with so many grammar and spelling mistakes that it was genuinely difficult to even understand what I was trying to say, and I knew this—I just didn’t care. “Why reread and correct my mistakes? Isn’t that what the teacher is getting paid for?” I figured if the assignment was completed, and I had words on a page, that it didn’t matter if it made since or if it was interesting or not. I didn’t see the importance of looking over your work before submitting it, until after a mandatory essay contest gave me a wake-up call, and it didn’t occur to me that my mother’s suggestions, for me to actually read my essays and make sure they made sense, wasn’t her just nagging about my half-hearted attempt at doing my homework. Continue reading “How I Write: My Evolution of Writing”→
I didn’t have access to a pen and paper. No ink blots were to be left as stains on my hands and parchment. There were no sticky notes around, no computers or phones to type with, and no notepads to doodle in. It was then that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to think.