Thursday, September 08, 2005

essay #2 - details

lesson on being descriptive (beginnings of...) - it's in the details

instructions: go outside, study something (anything) for ten minutes and come back in and write a paragraph. total time: 20 minutes.

start/

my subject wheeled himself out of the building to take a break from his studies. i watched as he carefully made his way to the recycling container with his empty poland spring water bottle - straight in -- he shoots, he scores. he thereafter looked around and pushed his chair manually to a sunny spot, opting to be in the warmth as opposed to seeking shelter from the sun under the shade made available by the cover to the walkway.

he was wearing all green, save for the sport stripe on his shorts and his white ankle socks and tennis shoes. the lanyard which hung about his neck was purple and i would venture a guess that his many keys were of great value to him; out of what appeared to be a nervous habit, he repeatedly examined them on several occasions during my 10-minute observation period, his concentration only interrupted by the rubbing together of his hands or the touching of his sparsely-bearded chin for new growth.

it was apparent to me that he was desirous of contact -- he smiled amiably at passersby who failed to make eye contact with him: they were either chatting with their companions or on their cell phones for all within earshot to hear. he would scratch his head and look at the ground if his *greeting* went unacknowledged. nobody spoke to him as they strode by so all of his greetings went unacknowledged.

he sat in his cushioned and stickered wheelchair, tapping his hands on his lap and momentarily smiling to himself on occasion, as if remembering something that had made him happy. there were six other students sitting on the nearby benches surrounding him, but it was apparent he was all alone.

he pushed his glasses up his nose, and with a small sigh reached down, lifted the brake off the wheel of his chair and swung himself around. it was time to go back to class.

for both of us.

/end

essay #1 - diagnostic

this was to see where we *were* as writers...

question: why are you attending this college? 15-minute time frame

start/

with eager anticipation in the fall of 2004, i signed up for and attended two college-level courses -- one was english composition 101 and the other, algebra I. it had been several years since i had taken any formal math course, but it was a class i was actually looking forward to. i went to classes for about six weeks before i had to (sadly) withdraw. leaving algebra wasn't very difficult, but leaving my english class? that had me tearful.

i initially wanted to be a nursing major...what little girl didn't want to be a nurse? all the excitement i felt about my decision quickly dissipated with my "not-so-silent-partner-in-my-business" of a father-in-law declared it an "unsound judgment" and vowed to make me miserable the balance of my days (not really) should i decide to stay in school. i reluctantly opted out, but later discovered it was actually the right thing to do after all because it enabled me to focus on my business and determine whether nursing actually was my true calling.

when the topic of school came up again this past spring, it was decided that i would attempt school once again. i changed my major to literature (my "true" love) and entered into a pinky-swear that i'd see things through this time, regardless of outside forces.

over-bearing but well-meaning inlaws aside, one knows that all pinky-swears are ever-solemn, so i am afraid you are stuck with me, at least this semester.

/end

why another blog?

this is my blog to put my essays i have to write for the college course i am taking. i don't want to add these to my martha blog because of their length. it's really just my journal for school writings.

this is entry #1 so i can alter my blog look, i probably won't be posting pictures alongside like i do with my other blogs. reason behind that is i want the words to speak for themselves.

peace.
Violence is the first refuge of the incompetent. Issac Asimov