Paul Auster's piece, "Why I Write," looks at his reasons/needs/desires for writing. In a similar fashion I want you to respond to this blog post by creating a piece just like he did telling me "why you write." You should write it just like he did following the same format. It should be 250 words or more and should be unique to you meaning you don't need to write what others have already written on the blog--talk about why you write and make it about you. In this post you do NOT have to comment back any of your peers.
It's due Tuesday, February 1, 2011 by classtime.
I was thirteen years old. That day I couldn’t have been anymore excited than I already was. It was Christmas Eve, and I had just flown into Guatemala with my two older sisters to visit all of my dads side of his family. Food was lied out buffet style for every one to get some. As I walk towards take my first step into the kitchen from the outside of the house, , my body got pushed back and the entire glass door shattered right on top of me. I don’t know what I was thinking that I couldn’t even notice the door was shut. My entire family runs over to me making sure that I am okay. I stand up and feel just fine. As I take a step away, I feel something dripping down my leg. I pull my pants up above the knee and notice a piece of glass in my leg with blood running down. My dad, uncle, and sister rush me to the hospital to get stitches in my leg. The doctors numb the area around my leg and begin the procedure, me still being the calmest decide to sit up and watch the doctor stitch up my leg. My family standing around me are freaking out, tell me to lay back down and to shut my eyes and to not worry. That moment then and there, I wish I could have written myself a note to remind myself that next time I have another accident, not to allow my family to stay with me in the room at the hospital because they will be more afraid of what is happening that myself. This is why I write. Now I carry my phone around with me everywhere I go so I can write different events or thoughts in the notes section of my phone.
ReplyDeleteRight after my parents got a divorce, I started visiting my dad every other weekend. As soon as my sister and I would arrive at his house, there would be a scavenger hunt ready for us to conquer. One clue led to another and then another and then another until we would finally reach the final destination where we would receive candy or a new sketch book or whatever caught our interest at the ages of five and three. At the bottom of all of our treasures was a note to each of us, always starting with “Dear Madison, my favorite oldest daughter…” and “Dear Bailey, my favorite youngest daughter…” and always ending with “I love you!” At the time, we overlooked these letters, but as the time went on, I enjoyed getting them more and more. It was through these letters I would receive every other week that I knew my dad still loved and cared about me just as much as he did when he was with my mom. As time has gone on, my dad has remarried and had another daughter, and my mom adopted a daughter resulting in me having three younger sisters. Being almost five hours away from them, the minute I see them is a blessing. Just as my dad did for Bailey and me, I make similar scavenger hunts for my two younger sisters. I always write the notes, just as my dad did for me and never forget the ending. I write to tell them I will always love and care about them, no matter how far away I am.
ReplyDeleteI sat near the top of bleachers of my new high school. I spent three and a half years into my high school education surrounded solely by girls in uniforms while being yelled at by nuns. Now I found myself wearing jeans, rather than that awful gray skirt and knee high, watching the boys play basketball on the court in front of me. It seemed as if for the first time I felt completely out of sorts. I’ve never been much of a wimp, but tears were welling up in my eyes and I wasn’t quite sure why. This is what I had wanted, a new beginning with new people in a new place. However the unfamiliarity of it all hit me hard and I lost my breath. I wanted to go to the bathroom to just sit in a stall so all the unknown faces would stop staring in my direction as the apparent new girl. I stayed glued on the bleachers in fear that any sudden movements would draw more attention to me and God knew I could not handle that. My phone vibrated and I snatched it quick, maybe I wouldn’t look like such an outcast with my phone going off. I wanted to kiss whomever’s message saved me from this despair. My best friend’s name popped up and in fact I did want to kiss him. His text message simply read, “I wrote this letter, can I message it to you on facebook?” He wrote me a letter? This big football playing, beer shot gunning fool wrote me a letter? I told him not to send it to my facebook because some old “friends” still had my password and gave him my email. I remained seated on the bleacher as I read the most heartfelt letter ever written in my opinion. It said everything I had hoped. He spilled his guts on his honest opinion of me and him as well as me in general. He told me how strong I was and how I stacked up to other people in his life which gave me a laugh. The tears in my eyes hadn’t faded away. Instead, they turned from misery to joy. I typed back as fast as I could in response to his letter just as he had asked. I write because I want to be able to express my thoughts and feelings to others, just as he had. Although he is no longer a part of my life, he is the reason I write.
ReplyDeleteAfter fifty-five years of marriage, my grandparents decided they needed a divorce. Once this happened I did not get to see them as much as I had in the past. They both changed their life styles which made it harder than usual to see them. My grandfather, in particular, was more difficult to see because he moved further away than my grandmother. As the years went by, my grandfather seemed to become more sick. As a result, he was frequently being placed in the hospital for short periods at a time. I tried to visit him more often, but still didn't visit him as much as I should have. His conditions continued to worsen and he started to have longer stays at the hospital, and eventually he was placed in a hospice. Once he was placed here, his conditions were so bad that he could barely move. The entire time he was there, he was in and out of consciousness, being out of it most of the time. This made it incredibly difficult to communicate with him since he seemed to be out of it when I would visit him. So I wrote my grandfather a card to tell him how much I loved and cared about him. I also asked my Aunt (who was with him 24/7 while he was in the hospice) to read it to him since it might be difficult for him to read it, even when he is conscious. The next time I got to visit him, he was conscious for a few minutes. During those few minutes, he managed to mumble out, "Thank you for the card," and "I love you Brandon." Two days later, he passed away. This is why I write. I write to express my feelings when spoken words are just not felt the same.
ReplyDeleteIt was a Sunday night and I had just turned eighteen. I was young enough to want to seek adventure in everything, old enough to never want to grow up. I had spent the day with a friend of mine talking about how my aspirations to make films seemed to have become fruitless and how I had just sold my camera and was in need of a new dream. It had slowly dawned on us that it was becoming early in the morning so he decided to take me my house. As we came to the street before my house he mumbled something about where he should turn. Not paying attention I said at the next right not thinking that the next right I was thinking off was the right after the one he could see, which was a one way street. Suddenly he turns onto a one way street, one car avoided, two cars avoided, three cars avoided, I screamed at him to make the next left to get off this road. Unfortunately for me my friend at that point had a panic attack; I grabbed the wheel making the next left off the one way road. Just than a cop car came zooming past us, if he had been there five seconds earlier we would have both been in quite a bit of trouble. As we parked and my friend calmed down I realized that my yearning to create films could easily be replaced by writing, just because I did not have a camera anymore I still had an experience I wanted to write about, and I don’t think any film could recreate the event I had just lived, only the pencil could do something as great as that.
ReplyDelete“Dude, lets go already,” I shouted to Patrick as I watched him lock the door to his house. We were embarking on a trip, just us friends, brothers, with one intention in mind, memories. Ravaged by excitement I peeled out onto the turnpike with the speedometer reporting ninety mph. The journey ahead of us was real; we were in it, ready to face whatever was thrown our way. However, I guess heading out at night was not the greatest idea, especially since I hadn’t really ever driven long distance. We made it though, safe and sound. Meeting Sammy with open arms, we were welcomed into his dorm. I remembering thinking “wow, this is what its like to be a college student,” seeing the half filled Bacardi bottle next to the dirty dishes. After spending the night at my brothers, were hit the road again this time, with Jacksonville as our destination. Following the ridiculous directions of the navigation, we found ourselves entering a national forest; there was no way his grandparents lived in the wilderness. We decided to give them a call, turns out we were not the only ones who had experienced this unfortunate occurrence. Finally reaching their house, we immediately passed out on the twin sized beds laid out before us. Waking up to his grandma’s homemade breakfast, we finished up and hit the beach. Amazing, only a block away from where we slept was this vast span of pure blue beauty. I remember it all as I write down my past memories, sometimes learning more from it during this process. That is why I write.
ReplyDeleteIt's my first night away from home and I feel like I forgot something. Maybe it's just the feeling of my first night in my dorm but I can't shake the feeling. All of a sudden it hits me. I forgot my journal. I remember I was in second grade and It was my birthday. My mom gave me an ugly blue diary with tacky flowers all over it and a lock that came with a key. I hid it from my friends not wanting them to know I just got a diary. I immediately started writing in it. All my thoughts and feelings and what I did that day just flowed onto the pages. I wrote in it weekly and as I got older I wrote in it monthly and then eventually once a year. My senior year of high school I decided to write in it a lot. I wanted to be able to look back and remember all the memories I had my senior year. Even though I'm a college student, I know I have to bring my diary to college because I know I will have hundreds of experiences. Without frequently writing in it I feel empty. The pages in my ugly blue journal are almost filled, but I can't believe I forgot it. The next weekend I decided to buy a new one. I'm in the next chapter in my life so having a new journal will be a good thing. My mom kept a diary when she was younger and I love reading all her past experiences. I hope one day to pass down my diary to my daughter. This is why I write.
ReplyDeleteIt was my senior year, and I had never felt more butterflies in my stomach that night. My hands were shaking and I kept repeating to myself, you can’t afford to mess up, you can’t let your team down. This is it. I knew that game could have been my last high school soccer game, and we could either walk off the field as runner-ups, or as winners. The gold was so close to my fingertips yet so far. I wanted more than anything to walk away from high school leaving the district championship title to my soccer team that season. We would forever be remembered and referred to as the last team in 2010 that held the title that year. I played my heart out and yes, I did make mistakes, but it happens, I’m only human. I replayed those mistakes in my head over and over again that night, thinking about what I could have done better. My teammates and I played a hell of a game. We were winning 1-0. The team we were playing was full of amazing players. They undoubtedly had more talented players than we did. But we had heart and we met every ball before they did, we ran harder, played harder, and really did deserve the title. What I remember the most was the faces on all of the seniors’ faces including mine when their first goal went in, because there were five minutes left in the game and we had dominated the game for 85 minutes. How could we let that happen? Somehow it did, and they scored because of our poor judgment on defense. I felt like my teammates slowly began to lose hope, and within 2 minutes left on the clock they scored again. I will never forget that day. I played my heart out and my hopes were lost. I write to remember moments in my life and share them with people I believe would enjoy reading them.
ReplyDeleteSummer 2010, I had just turned eighteen, graduated, and only a month until i left for Tallahassee. I remember the day clearly because it was the day I got my heart broken. My boyfriend at the time Alex and I had discussed staying together when we went to college. He would be in Gainsville and i would be in Tallahassee. Only two hours away. However, he had always been thinking about just breaking up during the summer so it would be easier for the both of us. It was for him but it wasn't for me. I was completely heartbroken, it felt that someone just did open heart surgery on me and I was wide awake. I left and went home and of course like the addict I am immediately went onto facebook. I vented to my friend Justin about what had happened. He told me about a blog he writes and sent me the link. His writings were really deep and really good to read and he said its a good way to express how you're feeling and no one can judge you. So I wrote my first two blogs that night on Tumblr. I can write whatever I want to on there and no questions are asked. I really enjoy it too, I haven't written anything in a while and I have so many things that need to be said but I feel like I haven't had the time. Justin is the reason I write my blog today. Alex was just the push I needed to get the inspiration.
ReplyDeleteIn the spring of 2010 I was standing on top of one of the peaking in none other than Breckenridge, Colorado. It was out senior class trip and it marked the beginning of the end on the road to graduation. I remember standing there, as I was about to begin the long journey down of the simple beauty of what I could see. Everything for miles was visible. I could not help but also remise of the previous trips that have also let me see the beauty in life. My sophomore year I had taken a trip to Wyoming to see the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone National Park. The view at the bottom of the mountains on the coast of Jenny lake was indescribable just as the moment I was experiencing. Likewise in the summer of my junior year I took a trip to the Grand Canyon. Just standing on that edge made you feel like you were so small. It was also an indescribable beauty. That standing there on that low ridge compared to then being on high on the top of that mountain. It was being there once again. Except this time as I stood there it was the mark of a new life ahead of me. The trip would soon end and I would be on my way of a to a new life. A life of higher education to the way toward my future career. To reflect of those moments and memories that I held so dear, and those emotions I could not put in words. These moments in life that you reflect and can not express what you are seeing and feeling in words that gives my inspiration for writing.
ReplyDeleteI was nine-teen year’s old, and attending Florida State University. For the first time in over 8 years I had a housing situation in which I knew where I would stay the following year. Due to traveling a lot, I have switched schools more times in my life then I can count on just my hands, so staying at the same school for the next three years was of real convenience to me. Not really having any real dreams or goals for the future, life seemed utterly pointless in general. It was the fall of 2011. I was taking an English composition course, which In my experience is by far the least exciting courses available, but they are required nonetheless. I was exhausted after a long day in school, and generally sleep deprived as most college students are. It was 12:03 o’Clock in the morning; the Blog post was due in a few hours, so I had to pain through the dull reading to receive a sufficient understanding of the required assignment. After reading Paul Auster’s “why write?” I proceeded to write this blog entry, which will probably result in my teacher’s disapproval. Sadly a teacher’s disapproval may result in a lower grade, but I am responding to this blog entry to the best of my ability. So why am I choosing to write this? Because this is why I write. I write because I have to for scholarly purposes. It gives me no pleasure, or real satisfaction. However, this is the main reason I write, and as I believe in honesty, surely it is what my entry must display.
ReplyDeleteMy senior year of high school, my softball team made it to state which was no big deal because we made our first state appearance when I was in eighth grade, so I had been on the big stage for a while. I thought that this would be no different than any other year that I had been there, then I realized, this is my last time playing softball I better give this my all and go hard for my teammates. I had not a care in the world when I was playing softball, I was with my friends, having fun, and most importantly winning games. We had an impressive run, making it to state five years in a row, and winning three times in a row. Those were some of my fondest high school memories, having everyone watch you, wondering what you are going to do next, making my parents proud, especially since my dad was a coach. I write to remember memories that have shaped me into the person I am today, having to deal with so many personalities and working together with so many people for so long has helped me develop better people skills. Writing is my favorite form of expression and I enjoy expressing my feelings about great memories.
ReplyDeleteI write my mommy every single day, through text messages that is. Regardless of the fact that texts are usually only 160 characters, I believe this is an important aspect of myself and defines why I write in general. Since I left for school in August, I know my mom has felt lonely; she now has an “empty nest”. I tried my very best to prepare her for this day (attempting to prepare myself as well.) Every now and then I have to cheer her up with the reminder that I will be home before she knows it for the next holiday. I’ll write her in the morning with an XO and an I love you, wishing her a good day. I’ll write her at night before her usually time of falling asleep around 9 to wish her sweet dreams. And I’ll write her anytime between that. She is and always has been my very best friend and even though we are four hours apart now that doesn’t change a thing. She doesn’t miss out on much because I update her on every aspect of my life through text messages. I know it brings her comfort in knowing that I have made it safely back to Tallahassee for example when I leave after the holidays. I write because I care for the happiness of others, especially the person who means the most to me in this world. I write to express my feelings and to keep those that I love informed on my day to day life as a freshman in college.
ReplyDeleteI was eleven years old and I remember tossing and turning as if shots of coffee were pierced into my veins. I was too excited to sleep the night away because in the morning, my family and I were leaving for vacation like we always do every summer. I had my favorite pair of jeans and t-shirt patiently waiting for me to slip into them. Finally, my eyes shut close and, what felt like a minute later, shot back open, and it was time to depart. I said goodbye to my dog, his name was Gruffy, and bye to my cat, Mimi. I took a glance at my room before leaving and saw how nicely the maids perfectly covered my bed and placed my Pikachu stuffed animal on the center of my bed. Little did I know that that would be the last time I would ever see that room again. That summer, my family decided to stay in the United States, my land of birth but not of culture. I lived in Haiti for eleven years enjoying the crystal sanded beaches and the sweet and tangy quenepa fruits, and finding out that I was going to be pulled away from these riches truly broke my little heart. I could not imagine leaving my friends, my house, my pets, and my dear Pikachu behind, but it finally came to reality as soon as I landed in Florida. I felt as if I had to restart my whole life; make new friends, and get adjusted to the schools. That’s the first time I ever felt the need to write; when I had strong emotions that were bottled up inside me. I write when my feelings can’t be held in any longer. I write to express my feelings just like I did when I was torn from my beautiful “L” shaped token.
ReplyDeleteMy whole life I have been torn between two cultural backgrounds. Spending my last half of elementary school in Korea, I was always picked on for being the “white girl” that knew how to speak, read, and write Korean and was only a “wanna be”. Going through the years surrounded by kids, that finally are old enough to realize there are differences between age, gender, and ethnicity was very difficult. Although to most Americans I may look completely Asian, to Koreans I look 100% white. Looking so much different from all of the children and getting picked on, I didn’t have all the friends in the world. Going through years and years of being the outcast I did not have someone my own age to trust and tell my secrets to, go to the playground with, or tell funny jokes to. On top of that, always being around my Korean family, our culture was very different. Christmases were not that big of a deal, Easter was not celebrated, and Halloween was not even known to Korean culture. Always looking forward to these days I couldn’t wait! But when the day came, everyone would sit around and watch TV as if it were a normal day of the week. With the cultural barricade, no matter how hard I tried to explain the way I feel its something that they would never understand why it was so important to me. My diary was the only source that I could let my feelings out to, the only source that wouldn’t disagree with my feelings or say my feelings were not important. This is why I write.
ReplyDeleteI was born in Melbourne, Florida nineteen years ago. I lived here until the second grade when my father’s job forced us to move to Connecticut. Since I was still so young when that happened it wasn’t a very detrimental event to me. All throughout grade school I made the best friends anyone could ask for. My neighborhood had a lot of kids in it and there were always whiffle ball games or some capture the flag going on, we were a really tight knit group. Half way through high school my parents came to the conclusion that they were ready to move back to Florida, they’ve had enough of the hardcore winters. So on July 3rd, the summer after my sophomore year in high school we packed up every we owned and drove back to Florida. Leaving the small town community of Connecticut was harder than I would have ever expected. I believe I can honestly say facebook saved my life. I write because I love the kids in Tolland and I never planned on loosing contact with them. I still, to this day, basically three years later, talk to my best friends on a daily basis. They’re off at college now too but we still can type messages back and forth and keep up on what’s new. Writing for me is more of a means of literal communication, and I write mainly to stay in touch.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was about eleven years old, I really started to get into music and listening to the actual lyrics of the songs these artists were coming up with. To me at the time it was remarkable of how they were able to put words ad phases together to create a song that is not only loved by them but loved by millions of listeners. Artist like Nas and Lupe really caught my attention because they where rappers that didn't rap about guns and drugs but rather talked about the struggles of life and how even though at times life is rough, never give up. Thats where it all started every night I would try to right poem and come up with clever lines to express what i was feeling at the time. I used to stay up all night and even on my spare time in school just writing and writing lyrics and poems about what was going on in my everyday life. Now i knew at the time that i was not going to be some big time rapper or anything like that but i figured if am going to write, why not write something that i enjoy doing. Thats why i finally figured out why i write, and its because writing is a way to express your feelings on a piece of paper in a way that you are not able to do by simply talking to a person. It is a way to express your ideas so that people that read your work can relate to it.
ReplyDeleteThere was a guy Chazz who went through high school everyone knew him and everyone loved him. He played every sport our school had to offer and he ranked in the state in each. Chazz seemed to be a good kid during basketball season he went to practice every day, during football season he did the same. Chazz received a lot of pressure by his parents to do well in athletics once they realized his natural talents, besides they figured he’d never be valedictorian so why not focus on his strong attributes. One day Chazz met a man who went by the name of O which was short for his last name Oreilles. Chazz and O became quick friends, Chazz even missing football practice to hang out with his new friend O that seemed to have the world at his finger tips. One day Chazz revealed to O that he had insecurities about his body and although he was one of the best athletes in the state, he felt he would never be good enough to make it to the pros in any of the sports he played. O seeing how vulnerable his friend was chose this time to tell Chazz he was the nephew of one of the biggest drug traffickers in the southeastern United States. Chazz did not understand O’s intentions for revealing this information to him. O finally offered to get Chazz doctor prescribed supplements for muscle growth to enhance his play on the court and field. Chazz young and Naïve had no knowledge of the dangers of what he was doing. Time progresses and everything is fine, Chazz has now transformed into a literal beast he is the top athlete in the nation receiving press from ESPN, ABC, and had an entire layout in sports illustrated. On Chazz’s last week and last shot of the supplement he noticed something funny his heart began to race really fast and Chazz fell to the floor. Chazz’s “best friend” O had gotten fed up with all the attention Chazz was receiving and became jealous so he pursued some fame of his own the front page of the “Miami Herald.” Breaking news: The nation’s top 5-star athlete was murdered by known drug affiliate Marcus Oreilles, sources say the death can be attributed to an overdose of heroine”….This is why I write.
ReplyDelete