self-reflection

Over this past semester, I've learned to truly embrace my love of writing. The quiet, relaxed environment of the class instantly sooths me, which enhances my creativity and refreshes my mind. After working on several poems, a screenplay, a monologue, and a memoir, I've become familiar with many techniques and styles of writing. I've written many poems over the years, mainly because poetry has been heavily implemented in all of my English classes since elementary school. However, this class has given me a different outlook on poetry, and allows much more freedom of expression than any poem I've written in English class. After reading poems from the poetry book in class, I began to recognize the many different styles of poetry and prose. I've taken formats from those poems and experimented with them in order to discover what's most appealing to me. After rereading my works from this semester, I've found that repetition is a commonly used technique of mine, not just within poetry. While writing my memoir, I used repetition to engage the reader and draw a full circle from the beginning to the end of the piece, which I've personally always found intriguing to read.

The memoir assignment was interesting to me, because I'd never written one or even knew how to write one. After helpful instruction and guidance from Ms. Scheulteiss, writing a memoir didn't seem nearly as difficult as I thought it was. Once I narrowed in on my subject, words flowed effortlessly onto the page, as if it was natural. Overall I've developed an appreciation for memoirs, and I hope to continue writing them. I also enjoyed the screenplay writing process. Screenplay writing has allowed me to translate my thoughts onto paper, completing the made-up scenario that once existed in my head. So far, writing a monologue has been the most difficult for me. I found it hard to translate a character's thoughts into complete dialogue. It also took some time to decide where I would insert the monologue, and who the speaker was. Ultimately, I believe that my monologue turned out well, considering it wasn't an easy task for me. Looking into the upcoming months, as the college application process begins, I'd really like to master my essay writing and language skills. I know that this class has the power to help me accomplish that. Within the upcoming semester, I would love to continue writing either screenplays, memoirs, short stories, or even start something new. I think that I have strong writing potential, and so far this year I've been able to focus on what aspects of writing I love the most.

memoir

Every day, for 11 years, I woke up in the same room, surrounded by the same white-washed furniture, within the same traditional cape-cod style house. A routine had developed. I woke up. I gazed around my room absorbing the warmth that filled it. I crawled out of my bed and tucked away the princess-like canopy that hung over it. I stepped onto the cold hardwood floors, awakening my body from the cloud-like covers I had spent the last 9 hours in. I walked into my bathroom and quickly positioned myself onto the warm, plush bath mats that devoured my feet. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair as I squinted from the light that poured through the uncovered window. I slipped on my outfit for the day, always simple, always comfortable. About to face the cold hardwood again as I prepared to venture into my kitchen, I put on soft socks that felt heavenly around my toes. I wandered into my kitchen to find my honey nut cheerios already poured, milk and everything. I ate quickly to the sound of my mom's iPod playing soft music. I placed the empty bowl into the sink, walked back into my room to grab my backpack, and we were off to school. That was a standard day for 11 years, until it all changed. Moving day.
To me, my house wasn't just a house. Surrounded by an enchanting garden and a flowing stream, it was a miniature castle. My mother and I spent hours in the garden, picking lemons and oranges off the trees, tending to the freshly grown flowers, and admiring the endless sunshine. We hosted parties, ranging from birthday to holiday. My family often gathered in the living room, and watched movies ranging from comedy to suspense. Over the years, the walls of our home became enriched with laughter, happiness, and excitement.
But the economy was in a fast decline, and my parents knew they didn't want to stay in our house forever. Hoping for the best, expecting the worse, my parents broke the news to me and my older sister that our childhood house would not be our lifelong house. Immediately I was excited. However, my sister, a few years older, knew what moving meant. She knew that my parents wanted to cut back on our lavish lifestyle, and she was content with that. But she wasn't content with the thought that no more memories would be made within the walls of our home. She wasn't content with the thought that she might not even see our home again. She wasn't content with the thought that my parents were so accepting of the change that lay ahead of us.
As the days went on, the amount of boxes grew. There were times when I'd sit in my quaint little room and all of a sudden a group of unfamiliar faces would peer into it. They analyzed the size, the lighting, the furniture layout. This was my private space that was built especially for me, and now it was invaded by strangers that wanted to purchase it. I didn't particularly like this idea, but I soon became used to it. The concept of moving didn't seem realistic to me until we abruptly received an offer. My parents talked it through and couldn't pass up the opportunity. They accepted the offer.
The day finally came. Boxes filled every inch of my house. I woke up to the sound of heavy footsteps and loud voices. I heard the dragging of boxes against the hardwood floors. I noticed the rapid opening and closing of doors. As I opened my eyes for the last time, my quaint little room was no longer my own. There was no warmth left to admire. There was no familiar white-washed furniture surrounding me. It had all been wiped clean, leaving a stark, empty home with blank walls and blank memories. It was then when I realized that the beautiful, enchanting house my parents built and that I grew up in, wasn't my house anymore.

Ivy's monologue

I'm stuck. I know that I love him, but I have absolutely no idea how to tell him. For weeks I've been searching for the right moment. But If I were to tell him now, things would become so awkward. I would put our entire friendship at risk, and take the chance of losing him forever. Yet if I don't tell him now, I know I'll regret it and spend the months he's gone just thinking about what would have happened if I had told him. I guess this is the perfect time. Here it goes.

self-reflective writing

Although this quarter was cut short for me since I joined the class late, my love of writing has definitely been reignited. Ever since I was young, English has always been my favorite subject, and I've always been very passionate about writing. I've found that this class allows my creativity to soar, and I am finally able to express my deepest thoughts onto paper.
Poetry, however, has never been a strong suit of mine. But after working through the poetry portion of this class, I've found that looking through poetry books and reading sample poems really helped me develop my ideas. So far, I've enjoyed the script writing portion of this class the most. I took a brief 1 semester script writing class in middle school and I loved it. But affer I finished the course, I never revisited that specific form of writing until now. After our sessions in Dr. Totland's room, I realized my true passion for constructing screenplays. I've loved having the freedom to write my own play based off of whatever I desire, and it really has sparked my creativity.
By the end of the year, I would love to perfect and strengthen my essay and screenplay writing. Since this upcoming year I will be focusing heavily on college essays, I want to prepare myself as best as possible.  

blank page

Staring at a blank page is like staring at an empty sky

A sky without clouds

A sky without planes 

A sky without birds flying through the blue 

Thoughts formulating within your head

Images soaring through your every layer

Such a fast-paced process exists, yet with little outcome 

I wonder,

When will this barrier break down?

When will my reflections begin to hatch?

Am I waiting for nothing? 

Finally, the time comes 

The time when that once fast-paced process 

Decelerates instantly

And every notion articulates fervently 

Staring at a blank page is like staring at an empty sky 

But once words are permeated 

The emptiness of the sky is obliterated 

And moral order is restored within 

the tide

The untouched skies

The placid sea

As time flies by

It calls to me

As serenity sinks in

Daylight dims

And the genuine mood

Becomes more grim

All of a sudden

In less than an instant

That once serenity

Is now nonexistent

It is all a mere mystery

The serenity of the sea

And its long-term glee

Is now only history

Then the tide rolls off

Into the past

As if tranquility

Will never last