Writing can be hard.
Don't misunderstand. Words tend to fit together like, well, they were meant to go together. But to really write write well you have to have that spark.
Writing without that one tiny speck of inspiration is like an Oreo cookie without the creme or a vertical asymptote---pointless.
Our schools, of course, tend to promote this sort of writing. They strip your paragraphs of sentence fragments and unconventional ideas, squeeze it into a 5-paragraph format, and force you to repeat all your points at least 3 times, all the while trying to promote an appreciation of good literature. Good literature, the kind you're supposed to analyze in unimaginative essays, thrives on a page rich with all of the elements present in bad essay writing. It's like trying to research coral reefs by standing on a rock and peering into the water. And the rock is next to a duck pond. It's a different world entirely.
Some of the restrictions, thankfully, are lifted when one enters an AP English classroom. We were even instructed not to write a 3-body-paragraph essay. (The downside of this is the 4-6 page requirement). So today, when my class was conducted to the library, equipped with essay prompts and computers, and left to our own devices, something changed.
As always I teetered on the knife's edge. Write a decent, conventional essay? Or dare I unleash that elusive element known as style, and present to my teacher a work of..of art? (Okay, let's not get too carried away. It's still English class after all).
Ordinarily I would choose the former option, and trudge sheeplike down the dry and well-beaten track worn by thousands before me.
But today, something inside me snapped. Perhaps I was made careless by the heady whiff of freedom from 5-paragraph essays. Perhaps I was determined to do full justice to the marvelous piece of literature I was responsible for analyzing and presenting to the world (okay, the english department). Perhaps my natural arrogance, badly suppressed throughout most of my education, finally broke free of its chains and rose to the occasion.(After all, it is senior year).
Today I would do something great. Today I would write something great. Today, I would take the road less traveled.
In one swift movement, I burst my fetters, began my essay and never looked back. I was unstoppable. Some of the inspiration that must have drifted to Shakespeare with his quill and Twain through his typewriter lent wings to my fingers as well, and words streamed across my Word document as though they would never stop. (Then the bell rang for a fire drill, but...yeah that's not important at this point). A bit of philosophy here, just the right touch of satire there. Beauty beginning with a mere two sentences, two paragraph fragments graced with personality, no mention of the book or author until I was darn well ready. An introduction to my introduction.
I can do stuff like that. I'm free now.
Don't misunderstand. Words tend to fit together like, well, they were meant to go together. But to really write write well you have to have that spark.
Writing without that one tiny speck of inspiration is like an Oreo cookie without the creme or a vertical asymptote---pointless.
Our schools, of course, tend to promote this sort of writing. They strip your paragraphs of sentence fragments and unconventional ideas, squeeze it into a 5-paragraph format, and force you to repeat all your points at least 3 times, all the while trying to promote an appreciation of good literature. Good literature, the kind you're supposed to analyze in unimaginative essays, thrives on a page rich with all of the elements present in bad essay writing. It's like trying to research coral reefs by standing on a rock and peering into the water. And the rock is next to a duck pond. It's a different world entirely.
Some of the restrictions, thankfully, are lifted when one enters an AP English classroom. We were even instructed not to write a 3-body-paragraph essay. (The downside of this is the 4-6 page requirement). So today, when my class was conducted to the library, equipped with essay prompts and computers, and left to our own devices, something changed.
As always I teetered on the knife's edge. Write a decent, conventional essay? Or dare I unleash that elusive element known as style, and present to my teacher a work of..of art? (Okay, let's not get too carried away. It's still English class after all).
Ordinarily I would choose the former option, and trudge sheeplike down the dry and well-beaten track worn by thousands before me.
But today, something inside me snapped. Perhaps I was made careless by the heady whiff of freedom from 5-paragraph essays. Perhaps I was determined to do full justice to the marvelous piece of literature I was responsible for analyzing and presenting to the world (okay, the english department). Perhaps my natural arrogance, badly suppressed throughout most of my education, finally broke free of its chains and rose to the occasion.(After all, it is senior year).
Today I would do something great. Today I would write something great. Today, I would take the road less traveled.
In one swift movement, I burst my fetters, began my essay and never looked back. I was unstoppable. Some of the inspiration that must have drifted to Shakespeare with his quill and Twain through his typewriter lent wings to my fingers as well, and words streamed across my Word document as though they would never stop. (Then the bell rang for a fire drill, but...yeah that's not important at this point). A bit of philosophy here, just the right touch of satire there. Beauty beginning with a mere two sentences, two paragraph fragments graced with personality, no mention of the book or author until I was darn well ready. An introduction to my introduction.
I can do stuff like that. I'm free now.
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