Darkness - The night excites me. There's so much to be done. So many possibilities. The sounds. The silence. It all creates an atmosphere that draws me in. Too deep in. What animals lurk in the night? The creatures that live for the darkness and the stillness not allotted in the day time. exciting.
Thunderstorms - The crashing of clouds. The rain. The lightning. It's all so exciting and dangerous. Thunderstorms are the most dangerous weather conditions experienced throughtout all parts of the world? The power they have to stop people and animals alike in their tracks.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Literary Journalism PreWriting
The pre-school experience is one that shapes the developmental lives of children everywhere. However, there is one key component to this entire experience missing -- the male role model. Throughout the typical pre-school setting the male teacher is in low attendance, if present at all.
The Open Mic is a scene in which creativity flows openly. Words are spoken and understood at speeds that the normal tongue does not comphrehend. I watch the poets slam and recite lyrics that ignite emotions that most attempt to avoid throughout the day. I'm enchanted by the mic. They're enchanted by the mic.
The Open Mic is a scene in which creativity flows openly. Words are spoken and understood at speeds that the normal tongue does not comphrehend. I watch the poets slam and recite lyrics that ignite emotions that most attempt to avoid throughout the day. I'm enchanted by the mic. They're enchanted by the mic.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Author's Responsibility
The authors responsibilites to readers is to relay truth in a manner that sparks interest but does not lose the real aspect. Truth is an honest account of experience. Because differing perspectives are to be expected, an author can account for such different perspectives through disclaimers. Disclaimers can be put either at the beginning of the essay or throughout. An examples of such disclaimers can be: "The actions that follow can be depicted in so many ways."
The lines that absolutely cannot be crossed are those that transform the essay from non-fiction to fiction. Adding events or people to exaggerate the story for interest cannot be done. Even omitting key elements of a story can change it's nature from non-fiction to fiction.
I'm still torn in the areas of rounding corners, changing names and making composite characters. In situations where revealing too much information about a situation or person can possibly lead to legal reactions or consequences, then yes, I think it is a reasonable action. However I do not think that it is justifiable to simply avoid unpleasant reations than will eventually blow over from relatives or friends closely related to the situation. If the author finds the subject worthy enough to be exposed, then the author should be prepared to take the reactions and criticism of those involved or related.
The lines that absolutely cannot be crossed are those that transform the essay from non-fiction to fiction. Adding events or people to exaggerate the story for interest cannot be done. Even omitting key elements of a story can change it's nature from non-fiction to fiction.
I'm still torn in the areas of rounding corners, changing names and making composite characters. In situations where revealing too much information about a situation or person can possibly lead to legal reactions or consequences, then yes, I think it is a reasonable action. However I do not think that it is justifiable to simply avoid unpleasant reations than will eventually blow over from relatives or friends closely related to the situation. If the author finds the subject worthy enough to be exposed, then the author should be prepared to take the reactions and criticism of those involved or related.
Analysis of Personal Essay
The focus of my personal essay is about having and being caught between two completely different loves, yet attempting to get the same thing from both -- acceptance and affection. One type of love takes the form of the relationship I had with my mom, and the other takes the form of a friendship that develops beyond a platonic realm, into a place where the relationship that develops puts a strain on the original relationship.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Personal Essay Draft
My Hero
“Alligator, alligator may I cross your river?” screamed a room full of five-year-old girls.
“Not unless you bring me… a banana!” she replied. And off we went scrambling through the room; probing inside the wooden refrigerator in the housekeeping area, digging in the giant toy chest, all in search of the two plastic bananas to be found in the kindergarten classroom to move on in the game. Frantically we screamed and hollered in search of oranges next, then apples and other inanimate objects belonging to the make believe kitchen we prided ourselves in everyday during playtime.
After all the excitement of “Alligator, Alligator” she moved us down into a circle. Sitting Indian-style with our feet tuck under ourselves we began to beat a simple beat on our laps, chanting the words to a song I can no longer remember. Though the words escape me, the bear hunt we found still plays in the back of my mind.
She was the troop leader of my Daisy’s Girl Scout group and everyone loved her. My mom has always had a way of making the time go by. Game after game, it seemed as if we would never stop playing. At five years old playing games with my mom was the best. But to top it off, we were playing games at my school with all the other girls. What more could a little girl ask for. Having all the other girls believing that my mom was the coolest… At five my mom was my hero.
I wanted to spend every waking moment with her; to absorb as much of her as I could for myself. Outside of school, if she was home, I was somewhere close by to be found. Sitting in the living room with all the adults while all the kids played outside or upstairs. My mom was talking. I had to be near to hear and see everything she said or did. And every evening, it was the same – We were together; my mom, my little sister, and me.
Change
As the years continued I remained my moms shadow. A spitting image of her relatives said, I loved it that way. Of course though I was still a kid, so sometimes I didn’t listen and I’ll admit sometimes it was on purpose, but I loved her.
Change comes suddenly sometimes. I remember not going to Auntie’s house a lot one day, then there all the time the next. Auntie lived with Nanu, my grandmother. Right around the corner, literally three houses away. Going to Nanu’s house was sometimes fun. But sometimes I just wanted to be home, with my mom in the next room where I could hear her.
Spending time at my Nanu’s house was always crowded. My aunt had three kids, a girl and two boys, older than us. Usually my cousins were very busy, and though the house stayed crowded they stayed to themselves; always in their rooms with their friends, or running out as soon as we showed up. Sometimes, the youngest boy played with my little sister and me play, video games, Hot Wheels and building with Legos mostly. On the rare occasions that the older boy wanted to play, he always wanted to wrestle. I didn’t find wrestling too fun. So afterwards, I’d get my little sister and sit us so close together on the couch you couldn’t squeeze air between us. And we’d stay that way until my mom finally came to get us to take us home.
When she’d show up and ask us how our day was, my response would always be the same – I’d try to smile and say it was fine. And most days that would be the truth. My Nanu always made the best grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon, and left us kids alone enough to just be kids. However, on those days I was made to wrestle, I couldn’t enjoy my sandwich, and I couldn’t wait for my mom to get back to take us the three house distance back home.
Strain
A couple years later we moved out of town. And for a while it was great, it was only us again. However, we were different. There was space between us so thick there was no getting through it. Where we once played school, after school, I was left tending to my little sister alone. Where all my friends once knew that my mom and me were the best of friends, that time was replaced by my telling stories of how cool my mom “used” to be.
I still loved my mom. And I wanted her to know it. I just didn’t know how to tell her anymore, because thinks were different now. And I was different. Those games of wrestling turned out to be more than games; they had changed me. And now that my life had changed, so had everything else.
My mom no longer had the time to play with us when she finally got home from work. Now she was too tired. Sometimes she’d come into our room and for a brief second it would look as if she was going to become the woman she once was. That day never came. Whenever she came into the house that look on her face that said she was the woman I used to adore, she’d position herself on the couch and keep very quiet.
For the next two years it was as if it were my sister and I against the world. My mom was gone. While technically in the next room over, my mom worked so much and so far away that our world that once revolved around her now excluded her. The tension was heavy. And we all missed the closeness that once defined our relationship.
So my sister and I, we took care of ourselves. After school we’d come home, do our homework, heat up some leftovers for dinner, and play games or watch television until our mom came home. Once she got home, my sister and I would continue as if she weren’t even there.
Moving On
After some time, we finally moved back to town. I thought that being closer our family and old friends things would go back to some resemblance of how we used to be. Instead of getting better, however, the space between us began to widen. Where I thought that my mom would be able to spend more time with us at home because we were closer to her job, she seemed to be spending even more time away than ever. My sister and I again were forced to spend a lot of time with Auntie and her children.
This time around, Nanu was living in a senior citizens building, so Auntie was living in her own place. Ironically, again the house was only around the corner from where we were staying. Being so close to Auntie’s house, my mom didn’t always feel the need to actually drop us off around the corner, instead she’d instruct us to be there by a certain time of day. However, on rare occasions she’d have my aunt send one of the boys over to keep an eye on us.
I stopped waiting for my mom to show up early and just spend the nights with us. Whenever she came home from work the routine remained the same, she’s go straight into her room and turn the TV on. My sister and I would try to talk, make idle conversation while we sat along the very edge of her bed, but the result was always the same – she’d smile for a while, and even make conversation back, but her mind was always some place else.
I never knew where her mind was on those nights. The few times I tried to figure it out she’d become even more quiet than usual. I’d watch her posture, the position she laid in the bed, she was not the Daisy’s leader she once was when I was five. She no longer
As the years went on, the situation stayed the same. Whenever my mom had to work, my sister and I were left in the care of Auntie and her kids.
Friend or Foe?
She wasn’t exactly my friend. My cousin wanted me to meet her. I had never seen her, spoken to her, or even knew she existed. Until the day I spotted her name floating around his neck. Camylle.
“She’s my girlfriend, Sharonda,” my cousin says as he looks away from me.
Immediately I question how he could possibly have a girlfriend whom I had never met, when we had conferred with each other on relationship decisions since we were 12 years old. Now 16, I was baffled at the sudden change.
“It just happened, Sha. You’ll meet her soon. I promise you’ll like her. She’s just like you!” he yelled as he ran back onto the court to play basketball.
I doubt it! I wanted to scream back at him. There was no one who could possibly feel, act or think like me. No one could possibly know how different I felt; no one except for him. Born on the same day, of the same year, He was my twin. And now He was keeping something from me. Another girl.
The day comes and I meet her. At first sight I’d decided that she was nothing like me. I watched the way she moved about the house, so uncomfortable with our glances. I would never wear my hair in that puffed out ponytail she wore. And the way she clung onto him as he introduced her to my family. I was nothing like this clingy girl with her high-pitched voice and sad puppy dog eyes.
?
A few weeks later, after school had started back up there was a knock on my door. I had heard the doorbell ring a few moments before, but no one had come by to see me all summer. When my sister came in and said that I had a visitor downstairs I was completely shocked. I indifferently made my way downstairs toward the door. Unaware of what I would find, I uneasily opened the door to find Her on the other side.
“Hi, Sharonda,” She says.
“Hi,” I quietly reply. This is the girl my twin has kept from me all summer. The girl I had to intention of getting to know because she was in no way like me. And therefore, there was no way that she would last long as my cousin’s girlfriend. Why was she here?
The next words out of her mouth answered that very question. She said that she had been unable to reach him, and wanted me to deliver a message, a letter, to my cousin the next day at school. To my surprise she asked me to read the letter. Me. She wanted me to read the letter, and to deliver it to my cousin only if I felt as if it weren’t too badly chosen. I looked her straight into her eyes and told her I would.
As soon I was back into my room I called my cousin. I called him to tell him of the craziness his girlfriend was talking. To my amazement, he told me to read it! He wanted me to read the letter, so that there would be no surprises in school. Skeptically I agreed to read the letter.
As I opened the envelope, and read the three-page letter she had written by hand I was utterly surprised. This was a girl, though caught in what seemed a love triangle, had serious feelings for my cousin. Through her letter alone I was introduced to a part of her that so much mirrored my own feelings I was immediately sympathetic to her situation. I advised my brother to call her immediately.
Despite my initial reaction to her, I had developed a soft spot for her. With the contents of a letter, a love letter, not written to me, I had become as intrigued with her as my cousin foretold.
Houseguest
For quite some time after she showed up at my house, I continued to wonder about the girl my cousin had chosen as a girlfriend. The girl he claimed was so much like me, the girl whose letter I had found a piece of myself in. I began to wonder about this girl. Occasionally, I’d ask my cousin how she was doing. Though she lived only around the corner from me, I was not intrigued enough to make the voyage to her front door.
Not so long later I ran into Her on my way home from school. Standing outside her house, starting a conversation with her that afternoon seemed the most natural thing to do. What started off as just cordial conversation, quickly turned into a discussion on life and passion. For hours under the hot sun, we stood outside and spoke on things that intrigued us; things we shared that we would not have known about otherwise.
For the next couple of weeks our conversations continued. Carrying over into the wee hours of the night, we became instant best friends. Spending almost all our time together outside of school, we began to share the things that most people keep private for years. I had found someone else who I was comfortable with; someone who felt as strongly about life as I did.
After a couple of months, circumstances beyond our control led her in need of a place to stay. Considering that we hadn’t had the strongest of relations in quite some time, I was rather surprised when my mom invited her to stay with us. She would be moving in full-time. No more running out a 6 a.m. to get ready for school, only to return the same evening to do the routine all over again. She had gone from a nightly visitor, to a permanent resident in 60-seconds.
Unconventional Love
She had quickly become the one I looked forward to seeing everyday – there when I finally fell asleep and there when I awoke. Constantly being in her presence brought back a feeling of contentment I had forgotten there could be. I found myself drawn to the things that made her like me, as well as the things that made her unique. She wasn’t clingy. She simply loved hard; a love I once knew but had slipped away from me some time ago.
I was comfortable confiding in her the things that no one else would accept from me. She allowed me to be vulnerable. She allowed me to be me. She had become more than a houseguest, more than my best friend. Feeling so strongly for her in a way that was both familiar and foreign to me I gave her all that I had. I loved her as hard as I could, and in return – she did the same! She loved me back in a way that was uninhibited.
In the beginning this love was innocent. It was simply the air that used to fill the thick space within my heart. But one day it changed. One morning, instead of waking to the calmness of Her breath; I awoke to the heavy breathing that occupies the hour of lovemaking. I awoke to find myself entangled in a web of emotions that went so far beyond anything else I had ever experience, yet seemed so familiar and safe.
The Struggle
Given how quickly things evolved between She and I, and how fulfilled I felt by finding it, it came as no surprise to me that my mom discovered the love that emerged. I found no discomfort in the open knowledge of the affection I had found; I welcomed it. She, on the other hand, had developed a relationship not only with me, but with my mom included.
While I was falling for Her, she had fallen for my mom. I love this girl. Love her in a way...
Epiphany
As you can see, I'm having a very hard time ending the essay. It's not that I don't know what I want to say... I just don't know how to say it.
“Alligator, alligator may I cross your river?” screamed a room full of five-year-old girls.
“Not unless you bring me… a banana!” she replied. And off we went scrambling through the room; probing inside the wooden refrigerator in the housekeeping area, digging in the giant toy chest, all in search of the two plastic bananas to be found in the kindergarten classroom to move on in the game. Frantically we screamed and hollered in search of oranges next, then apples and other inanimate objects belonging to the make believe kitchen we prided ourselves in everyday during playtime.
After all the excitement of “Alligator, Alligator” she moved us down into a circle. Sitting Indian-style with our feet tuck under ourselves we began to beat a simple beat on our laps, chanting the words to a song I can no longer remember. Though the words escape me, the bear hunt we found still plays in the back of my mind.
She was the troop leader of my Daisy’s Girl Scout group and everyone loved her. My mom has always had a way of making the time go by. Game after game, it seemed as if we would never stop playing. At five years old playing games with my mom was the best. But to top it off, we were playing games at my school with all the other girls. What more could a little girl ask for. Having all the other girls believing that my mom was the coolest… At five my mom was my hero.
I wanted to spend every waking moment with her; to absorb as much of her as I could for myself. Outside of school, if she was home, I was somewhere close by to be found. Sitting in the living room with all the adults while all the kids played outside or upstairs. My mom was talking. I had to be near to hear and see everything she said or did. And every evening, it was the same – We were together; my mom, my little sister, and me.
Change
As the years continued I remained my moms shadow. A spitting image of her relatives said, I loved it that way. Of course though I was still a kid, so sometimes I didn’t listen and I’ll admit sometimes it was on purpose, but I loved her.
Change comes suddenly sometimes. I remember not going to Auntie’s house a lot one day, then there all the time the next. Auntie lived with Nanu, my grandmother. Right around the corner, literally three houses away. Going to Nanu’s house was sometimes fun. But sometimes I just wanted to be home, with my mom in the next room where I could hear her.
Spending time at my Nanu’s house was always crowded. My aunt had three kids, a girl and two boys, older than us. Usually my cousins were very busy, and though the house stayed crowded they stayed to themselves; always in their rooms with their friends, or running out as soon as we showed up. Sometimes, the youngest boy played with my little sister and me play, video games, Hot Wheels and building with Legos mostly. On the rare occasions that the older boy wanted to play, he always wanted to wrestle. I didn’t find wrestling too fun. So afterwards, I’d get my little sister and sit us so close together on the couch you couldn’t squeeze air between us. And we’d stay that way until my mom finally came to get us to take us home.
When she’d show up and ask us how our day was, my response would always be the same – I’d try to smile and say it was fine. And most days that would be the truth. My Nanu always made the best grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon, and left us kids alone enough to just be kids. However, on those days I was made to wrestle, I couldn’t enjoy my sandwich, and I couldn’t wait for my mom to get back to take us the three house distance back home.
Strain
A couple years later we moved out of town. And for a while it was great, it was only us again. However, we were different. There was space between us so thick there was no getting through it. Where we once played school, after school, I was left tending to my little sister alone. Where all my friends once knew that my mom and me were the best of friends, that time was replaced by my telling stories of how cool my mom “used” to be.
I still loved my mom. And I wanted her to know it. I just didn’t know how to tell her anymore, because thinks were different now. And I was different. Those games of wrestling turned out to be more than games; they had changed me. And now that my life had changed, so had everything else.
My mom no longer had the time to play with us when she finally got home from work. Now she was too tired. Sometimes she’d come into our room and for a brief second it would look as if she was going to become the woman she once was. That day never came. Whenever she came into the house that look on her face that said she was the woman I used to adore, she’d position herself on the couch and keep very quiet.
For the next two years it was as if it were my sister and I against the world. My mom was gone. While technically in the next room over, my mom worked so much and so far away that our world that once revolved around her now excluded her. The tension was heavy. And we all missed the closeness that once defined our relationship.
So my sister and I, we took care of ourselves. After school we’d come home, do our homework, heat up some leftovers for dinner, and play games or watch television until our mom came home. Once she got home, my sister and I would continue as if she weren’t even there.
Moving On
After some time, we finally moved back to town. I thought that being closer our family and old friends things would go back to some resemblance of how we used to be. Instead of getting better, however, the space between us began to widen. Where I thought that my mom would be able to spend more time with us at home because we were closer to her job, she seemed to be spending even more time away than ever. My sister and I again were forced to spend a lot of time with Auntie and her children.
This time around, Nanu was living in a senior citizens building, so Auntie was living in her own place. Ironically, again the house was only around the corner from where we were staying. Being so close to Auntie’s house, my mom didn’t always feel the need to actually drop us off around the corner, instead she’d instruct us to be there by a certain time of day. However, on rare occasions she’d have my aunt send one of the boys over to keep an eye on us.
I stopped waiting for my mom to show up early and just spend the nights with us. Whenever she came home from work the routine remained the same, she’s go straight into her room and turn the TV on. My sister and I would try to talk, make idle conversation while we sat along the very edge of her bed, but the result was always the same – she’d smile for a while, and even make conversation back, but her mind was always some place else.
I never knew where her mind was on those nights. The few times I tried to figure it out she’d become even more quiet than usual. I’d watch her posture, the position she laid in the bed, she was not the Daisy’s leader she once was when I was five. She no longer
As the years went on, the situation stayed the same. Whenever my mom had to work, my sister and I were left in the care of Auntie and her kids.
Friend or Foe?
She wasn’t exactly my friend. My cousin wanted me to meet her. I had never seen her, spoken to her, or even knew she existed. Until the day I spotted her name floating around his neck. Camylle.
“She’s my girlfriend, Sharonda,” my cousin says as he looks away from me.
Immediately I question how he could possibly have a girlfriend whom I had never met, when we had conferred with each other on relationship decisions since we were 12 years old. Now 16, I was baffled at the sudden change.
“It just happened, Sha. You’ll meet her soon. I promise you’ll like her. She’s just like you!” he yelled as he ran back onto the court to play basketball.
I doubt it! I wanted to scream back at him. There was no one who could possibly feel, act or think like me. No one could possibly know how different I felt; no one except for him. Born on the same day, of the same year, He was my twin. And now He was keeping something from me. Another girl.
The day comes and I meet her. At first sight I’d decided that she was nothing like me. I watched the way she moved about the house, so uncomfortable with our glances. I would never wear my hair in that puffed out ponytail she wore. And the way she clung onto him as he introduced her to my family. I was nothing like this clingy girl with her high-pitched voice and sad puppy dog eyes.
?
A few weeks later, after school had started back up there was a knock on my door. I had heard the doorbell ring a few moments before, but no one had come by to see me all summer. When my sister came in and said that I had a visitor downstairs I was completely shocked. I indifferently made my way downstairs toward the door. Unaware of what I would find, I uneasily opened the door to find Her on the other side.
“Hi, Sharonda,” She says.
“Hi,” I quietly reply. This is the girl my twin has kept from me all summer. The girl I had to intention of getting to know because she was in no way like me. And therefore, there was no way that she would last long as my cousin’s girlfriend. Why was she here?
The next words out of her mouth answered that very question. She said that she had been unable to reach him, and wanted me to deliver a message, a letter, to my cousin the next day at school. To my surprise she asked me to read the letter. Me. She wanted me to read the letter, and to deliver it to my cousin only if I felt as if it weren’t too badly chosen. I looked her straight into her eyes and told her I would.
As soon I was back into my room I called my cousin. I called him to tell him of the craziness his girlfriend was talking. To my amazement, he told me to read it! He wanted me to read the letter, so that there would be no surprises in school. Skeptically I agreed to read the letter.
As I opened the envelope, and read the three-page letter she had written by hand I was utterly surprised. This was a girl, though caught in what seemed a love triangle, had serious feelings for my cousin. Through her letter alone I was introduced to a part of her that so much mirrored my own feelings I was immediately sympathetic to her situation. I advised my brother to call her immediately.
Despite my initial reaction to her, I had developed a soft spot for her. With the contents of a letter, a love letter, not written to me, I had become as intrigued with her as my cousin foretold.
Houseguest
For quite some time after she showed up at my house, I continued to wonder about the girl my cousin had chosen as a girlfriend. The girl he claimed was so much like me, the girl whose letter I had found a piece of myself in. I began to wonder about this girl. Occasionally, I’d ask my cousin how she was doing. Though she lived only around the corner from me, I was not intrigued enough to make the voyage to her front door.
Not so long later I ran into Her on my way home from school. Standing outside her house, starting a conversation with her that afternoon seemed the most natural thing to do. What started off as just cordial conversation, quickly turned into a discussion on life and passion. For hours under the hot sun, we stood outside and spoke on things that intrigued us; things we shared that we would not have known about otherwise.
For the next couple of weeks our conversations continued. Carrying over into the wee hours of the night, we became instant best friends. Spending almost all our time together outside of school, we began to share the things that most people keep private for years. I had found someone else who I was comfortable with; someone who felt as strongly about life as I did.
After a couple of months, circumstances beyond our control led her in need of a place to stay. Considering that we hadn’t had the strongest of relations in quite some time, I was rather surprised when my mom invited her to stay with us. She would be moving in full-time. No more running out a 6 a.m. to get ready for school, only to return the same evening to do the routine all over again. She had gone from a nightly visitor, to a permanent resident in 60-seconds.
Unconventional Love
She had quickly become the one I looked forward to seeing everyday – there when I finally fell asleep and there when I awoke. Constantly being in her presence brought back a feeling of contentment I had forgotten there could be. I found myself drawn to the things that made her like me, as well as the things that made her unique. She wasn’t clingy. She simply loved hard; a love I once knew but had slipped away from me some time ago.
I was comfortable confiding in her the things that no one else would accept from me. She allowed me to be vulnerable. She allowed me to be me. She had become more than a houseguest, more than my best friend. Feeling so strongly for her in a way that was both familiar and foreign to me I gave her all that I had. I loved her as hard as I could, and in return – she did the same! She loved me back in a way that was uninhibited.
In the beginning this love was innocent. It was simply the air that used to fill the thick space within my heart. But one day it changed. One morning, instead of waking to the calmness of Her breath; I awoke to the heavy breathing that occupies the hour of lovemaking. I awoke to find myself entangled in a web of emotions that went so far beyond anything else I had ever experience, yet seemed so familiar and safe.
The Struggle
Given how quickly things evolved between She and I, and how fulfilled I felt by finding it, it came as no surprise to me that my mom discovered the love that emerged. I found no discomfort in the open knowledge of the affection I had found; I welcomed it. She, on the other hand, had developed a relationship not only with me, but with my mom included.
While I was falling for Her, she had fallen for my mom. I love this girl. Love her in a way...
Epiphany
As you can see, I'm having a very hard time ending the essay. It's not that I don't know what I want to say... I just don't know how to say it.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Personal Essay Vs. Memoir
In doing a little research this is what I've come to understand of personal essays versus memoirs.
The personal essay is an inner exploration of the writer's inner life. These are the essays that allow the writer to explore the confusion and revelations of their independent experiences. The use of the personal essay is a way for the writer to divulge and the reader to discover the hidden thoughts of the subject at hand.
Memoirs on the other hand give a greater detail into the experience being exposed. This form tends to be book length because it offers greater insight into what happened, not exactly how the writer felt about what happened.
The personal essay is an inner exploration of the writer's inner life. These are the essays that allow the writer to explore the confusion and revelations of their independent experiences. The use of the personal essay is a way for the writer to divulge and the reader to discover the hidden thoughts of the subject at hand.
Memoirs on the other hand give a greater detail into the experience being exposed. This form tends to be book length because it offers greater insight into what happened, not exactly how the writer felt about what happened.
Monday, January 29, 2007
NOT A TEST
This is not a test. This is an actual recording of the infamous Butterfly Corner. And we are PATCHED!
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