|By Felipz24 (Felipz24) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 02:46 am: Edit|
Here is a rough draft of my potential essay. I know it needs to be cut down a lot for the correct lenght, but tell me what you think. I may have missed the mark, or that might be a good thing.
The backseat is cold. It is actually so cold that I have my black sweatshirt zipped up completely, so that the collar irritably scratches at my unshaved neck. The gray leather in the backseat is firm, so that when you lean back, you tend to fall into either of the window seats. But the middle seat is positioned upward on the barrier of either definite position. I sit in the middle. There is no one beside me, but something about the upright position helps me to feel more comfortable, more confident. My feet are split on either side of the carpeted center console, but I am angled toward the front passenger. The front seats are far back, so that my toes are locked between the carpeted floor and the bottom of these seats. They are trapped, they cannot leave from under this seat, but I am not worried. There are no floor mats.
A bottle of beer is in my left hand. It is nearly full, the bubbles slowly fighting their way to the top, and it is my first. Though I feel uncomfortable, my left elbow rests over the side of the drivers seat, and pulls my shoulder a tad higher than the other. My right hand seamlessly resides on my knee with my fingers curling around the joint, looking for something solid to hold onto. I lean forward so that my sweatshirt sleeve doesnít pull too far down my forearm. The car smells new, and foreign. It is not inviting. I have never been in this car before, and the world it brings with it is new. I donít know the owner, though his reputation has circumnavigated my acquaintances. There is tight feeling in my stomach, something new, and it beckons me to give in. Though I am not sure what to give into. Like the seat, the beer is also cold.
A headlight in the background suddenly shows through the windows. The exited electrons burst a stream of white light on the gray passenger seat, then the black wood-covered dashboard, and finally the driverís seat. Though in the process, it has crossed over my face as if five unwelcome fingers have just smoothly run across my expression. Then the headlight exits and turns as the car passed down the lane of parked cars. However, it stops. My heart does not stop, but rather, freezes. The tires slowly back up over every grain of asphalt and intermittently crack, with the same sound a car makes at ten oíclock at night, as it pulls into the driveway after a long road trip. It passes our car, and stops. A man in a blue uniform exits, and follows the glowing beam from his Maglight to my window.
I donít remember any sound. I know there was talking and clamoring as the man approached, but I didnít move, I couldnít. In sudden instinct, I drop the bottle onto the floor and kick it under the seat. It spills, and soaks the carpet, though mostly covered by my foot, with its contents. The officer speaks, but I donít remember what he said. I speech too, but the feeling is all that my neurons have decided to encode in my memory. There is a shock, more like a shiver that runs from my ankles, to my knees, and continues to my fingers, but then dissolved into the moment. My palms are moist with a sweat that had newly formed, and I am frozen. I am frozen in fear, in anticipation, in regret, guilt, anger, passion, and then nothing. There is no expression on my face; it was cold, like the seat, like the bottle. In the background, the man in the blue uniform talks with someone, but without looking, I know; how could I forget the voice that had raised me? I lean foreword, with one elbow on each front seat, as if to ease myself, but my soldiers are heavy. They ache, and I canít feel. My appendages were sweaty, and lost, in some state of conscious lack of sensation.
All I needed was some explanation. Some explanation of who I was. There will always remain an image of the green bottles lying on the ground, the red and blue lights shinning through the chilled night and reflecting in my mind. But until much later, I could not admit that it was I who existed in that picture.
It was as if my self-image was a bridge, the earthquake of this experience had torn this bridge deep into the ocean of blue and darkness. What ever it had been before was gone, and could never be retrieved. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The entire experience tore me down, and forced me to cast a new mold. I could be happy who I was and that was all that mattered. There was no restraint of having to remodel on an old base, but rather, I could start anew.
|By Trojan1444 (Trojan1444) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 04:20 am: Edit|
dude, you're writing a college essay about getting caught with beer in a car? Are you an idiot?
Besides having a bad topic, I think the writing could use some help. For example, the beginning is VERRRRY slow....you describe a car for way too long. Secondly, the whole essay is frustrating because the reader never really knows what's going on, it's kinda like we're seeing the whole thing through a haze (this style can be good for an intro, but not for the entire essay.)
And I'm not even sure of exactly what you're writing about. Was your dad the cop? What exactly happened in the car? Where were you, what were you doing? What was the result of getting caught. What exactly did it teach you besides "starting anew."
I am thoroughly confused by this essay.
|By Emma (Emma) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 08:39 am: Edit|
also, although there are some good lines, it becomes a bit over the top when every single sentance is trying to be perfect with too much description.
|By Fairyofwind (Fairyofwind) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 10:23 am: Edit|
And you need to take a Wordiness 101 class.
|By Folk_Hero (Folk_Hero) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 03:34 pm: Edit|
It is a bit confusing and not edgy enough. I like the topic. It's a good risk. I like some of those short, abrupt sentences, too, but there are so many that it's slow instead of fast. Maybe you can talk about the decision to take the beer instead of doing all that description and then shifting to the "meaning" all of a sudden. Also, "irritable" describes a person in a bad mood. It means "annoyable," but you're looking for "annoying." Just a few suggestions.
|By Hsimpson2k4 (Hsimpson2k4) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 03:51 pm: Edit|
I am not impressed. The detail you used shows that you have talent. However, you spent too much time on the details. THere is no story, no consequence, no conclusion. Are we supposed to make up our own endings. Is this incident on your record and you are trying to explain? Not very good.
|By Madrigal (Madrigal) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 03:55 pm: Edit|
Good story, bad essay.
|By Felipz24 (Felipz24) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 09:15 pm: Edit|
Here is a possibility for my college essay. Tell me what you think.
Some dream of the mountains, others the deserts or forests, but I dream of the sea. To me, water is mysterious, and it will always provide me with an escape from the world and its pressures. As long as I live, I will not be able to move from the ocean or lakes, for I am a citizen of water.
The art of sailing encompasses everything that I love about the sea. It is very natural and peaceful. I have become captivated by sailing on the San Francisco Bay, and thrive on the exhilarating, yet quiet element of water. Sailing requires a level of solitude balanced with energy, something I have been forced to learn.
Through sailing I have learned about the ocean. I have learned to respect it, and also how to harness its power. People are afraid of what they donít know, and the ocean is unknown to many. However, it is a key piece of my life, and it seems to have the power to take me away from everything that I dislike or fear.
In order to be successful, sailors must enjoy and accept the solitary times on the ocean. Though it is vital to maintain social skills, I feel that it is also important to be self reliant and confident. Because of sailing and water I have found this confidence. Sailing, above all else, has taught me patience and concentration.
From a very young age I have been obsessed with boats. In fourth grade, I was given an assignment unlike anything that I had ever encountered. There were no requirements, except that I had to work on it every night for one month. I took advantage of this project through my love for boats. Every night, I would study the different rigs of sailboats, and then take the time to draw them out for a presentation. I have absolutely no artistic ability, but I took the time and concentrated more than I ever had in my life, and created some beautiful drawings of these sailboats. On the final day, my teacher asked, ďAre these pictures photocopied?Ē My love for boats has always been an important piece of my personality.
Aside from sailing and boats, water has taken on the representation of the importance and value of family. For sixteen years I have traveled every summer to a large blue water lake in Iowa. It has very deep roots in my familyís history and has created another positive relationship for me with water. I have seen my family come together every day on the dock above the lake, and float in old inner tubes for hours in the long afternoons. I have discovered that simply swimming in water has the magical effect of bringing people together.
Water and sailing complete me. They define to me who I am and where I have been. I am connected to water and sailing as a child is to a mother. I am and will always be a citizen of the water.
|By Becks777 (Becks777) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 09:17 pm: Edit|
What was the topic given to u for this essay?
|By Trojan1444 (Trojan1444) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 09:38 pm: Edit|
"Some dream of the mountains, others the deserts or forests, but I dream of the sea."
That is a very plain and over-rused opening line ("Some (verb)(noun), others (verb)(noun), but I (verb)(noun).")
|By Gagner (Gagner) on Monday, August 25, 2003 - 10:39 pm: Edit|
I think it's good. I like the poetic -> narrative -> poetic flow. However, I feel as though you go a little too far with the (pardon me but) hippie one-soul theme. Its like seeing an actor being too melodramtic, which I've seen a lot of and have struggled with myself.
|By Sheeprun (Sheeprun) on Tuesday, August 26, 2003 - 03:37 am: Edit|
I moved posts here and closed the other thread. Please don't start a new thread for new essays. Anything having to do with your essays---post them right HERE. Thank you.
|By Madrigal (Madrigal) on Tuesday, August 26, 2003 - 10:43 am: Edit|
I'm going to write an essay about sailing too. at some point . . .
|By Whzup44412 (Whzup44412) on Wednesday, August 27, 2003 - 05:56 pm: Edit|
Well, the essay shows your a very descriptive writer. Besides that, it doesn't really reveal anything personal at all about you. It's an interesting essay, but not a college essay.
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