Freewrite #2

 I remember when I used to shake my tiny little rump in from of that jet black thick screened television, attempting to sing and dance with Arthur, or Raffi, looking back now, I realize that I in fact, had no idea what the words were, I just liked to think I did. I remember the struggles and arguments I had with my all my family members, never able to just accept one another as we are. I remember reading my first book, “Larry the Camel”-of course, it was a picture book, with at the most three lousy words on a page.  I remember learning to write my name. I would always write E’s with four ugly, crooked stems sticking out. I remember when I used to play peek-a-boo with my baby brother, and the adorable faces he would make every time I removed the stringy burp rag from in front of my face. 

I remember when my sister and I, after a rainstorm in the fall, would go outside with our matching Landsend raincoats, and rain boots, and collect the rain. We would take our fire truck red and our mustard  yellow sand pales and place them underneath the roof so that the rain would drop right into our pales.  I remember we use to sit outside and just watch rain droplets and when they landed in your pale, you would jump up, cheer and swing your fists in excitement, while the other would just watch a glare at you. 

I remember when my little brother, my sister and I, all made a rock band and wrote our own songs.  We called ourselves the Blue Monkeys, we wore this gross blue lipstick, which we caked on, and we thought we were hardcore, and cool. 

I remember when those blow up backpacks, gel pens, Razrs, and Ferbies were in.  I remember when it was a huge competition, and how we always wanted to be able to “top” our friends’ toys. I remember when my dad used to put me to bed, and would sing Hello Dolly-I was so amazed at how much he sounded just like the man. 

            I remember when I went to my best friend’s dad's house, and we walked about ten miles in 9o degree weather, to a one of a kind convenience shop, just to buy a box of Crayola chalk.  I remember when we took that chalk and we drew all over the basement walls, and how much fun we had.  I remember how we felt like such troublemakers because we were drawing on the walls of someone’s house. 

I remember when I went to the boardwalk with my grandparents and I wore a swimsuit with a triangular shaped back, and how my grandma forgot to put sunscreen in that triangle, and how I got a gigantic triangular scab, and how to this day, she claims that did.  Memories make up ones life, good or bad, we choose to keep, and cherish them, or forget and discard them.  In my eyes, the memories I have make up me, and help me to define who I am.

 

Freewrite #1

        Last summer, I was invited to go to my friends Dad’s house, in Crosslake. I had wanted to go there for a while now, so I said yes, and arranged all the details with my friend Sammy. I was to leave on a Thursday, the day before my sister when to college. It was Wednesday night; I sat up, waiting hours, for my sister to come home from spending the night with her friends. At about 3 in the morning, I gave up. I lazily walked up to my room and sat on my bed, thick tears with blobs of mascara, ran in pools down my face, “Was I really not going to be able to say goodbye?”
        The next morning at about 5, I woke up to that annoying beeping noise of my ihome, and went downstairs to eat a nice breakfast. After breakfast, I grabbed all my bags to go to Sammy’s Dad’s, and threw them into the sparkly gray mini van, and hopped in the car, sitting next to Cal, Sammy’s adorable little brother. Cal is one to always talk, but this time, he didn’t. He knew I wasn’t in the mood-it’s amazing how someone so young can tell when something is wrong, but people who are older often can’t. I sat the whole time thinking about my sister-Why did she have to leave me?!
        When I got to Crosslake, my cell phone started to ring, it was my sister, AnnaMarie, she told me that she was sorry she couldn’t say goodbye and she would see me again on Thanksgiving. I told her to stop talking because I was about to cry, and when she didn’t, I hung up.
        Here I was, a 16 year old girl, out in Crosslake with her best friend in the summer, and I was uncontrollably crying. I was supposed to be having the time of my life! I sat with my best friend and cried for about 3 straight hours. A week later, it was time for me to return home, I got in the car and drove for 3 hours. When I got home, I ran up to my room to put my things away and on my bed, was a huge wooden basket. I walked up to it, and looked inside, my sister had made me a fleece tie blanket, with the Yankee symbol all over it, and she had but other goodies in it. However, the best thing in the basket was a note; I opened it and read it. It was the nicest thing she had ever written me, or nonetheless said to me. It meant the world to me. I took it and put it on the inside of my rubber phone case, so that whenever I need her, I could just take it out and read it to myself. I learned from all of this that we all have to endure tough goodbyes but we must be strong and learn to take them as they come, because it’s life, and it is what it is.

KEY

1. Narration
2. Comparison/Contrast
3. Process Analysis
4. Argument/Persuasion
5. Classification
6. Cause and Effect
7. Description
8. Definition
9. Division of Analysis
   

Inspiration #9

       Inspiration can be shown in many ways. It can be a play, a poem, a painting a song, or maybe even a cake! It's something one creates using creativity and imagination.

Inspiration #8

      Inspiration is a divine influence directly and immediately exerted upon the mind or soul.  It is very similar to the words, stimulus, incitement, and aspiration.  Some antonyms would be despair, sorrow, torment, trouble, unhappiness.

Inspiration #7

         A struggling middle aged artist, one day takes a brisk run in Central Park, he hadn't gone on a run in about one year, so he began to struggle for air.  After about ten minutes, the pain grew to be so immense-it felt as if he has a scorching hot metal crow bar pushing in on his rib cage-he had to stop and take a short break.  He found a cute, black, Gothic style bench and took a seat, he plopped down, the cold from the bench sent chills all throughout his pale body.  He glances up, he sees an old lady aimlessly walking through the park, towards him.  The lady was about in her 30's, she wore mud brown leather boots, that had a gaping hole, which allowed her big toe to pop out.  She wore a big poofy, vomit colored skirt, that looked like the clothes the orphans wear in Annie, or Oliver Twist wore.  She had dirt spattered, and caked all over her, from head to toe, and her plump legs were splotched with plum blotches, from the brisk wind nipping at her skin.  The man concludes that the hunchbacked lady is indeed homeless, he continues to stare, like any normal person would. The lady is holding a brown paper bag, soaked with oil from the treat inside, a croissant from the bakery down the road.  The bakery is known world wide for their intricate deserts and other sweets.  The owner, Tino Dilmiani, is also known world wide, mostly for him baked goods but also for his kind ways, and acts, one of which is donating all the day old deserts to the homeless. She uncrumples the bag and pulls out her croissant, she tears it right down the middle, and then starts to look around for something.  Suddenly, she smiles, and a flock of plump, and shiny pigeons start to surround her.  She rips of tiny pieces, of her only meal she gets each day, and feels it to her bird friends.  The man watches, in awe, he's struck by how happy she is when she has almost nothing.  He digs in his sleek Nike track suit pocket and pulls out a receipt from the Saks down the road, and a petite forest green golf pencil with the words, "Wing Foot" printed in gold along the side, and he starts to sketch, the lady, truly inspired by her.

Inspiration #6

     Inspiration is the force that results from one being lost, or one having the thirst to go out there and make or do something that's unique to them.  It causes one to find something unique or amazing, that others wouldn't ever, it's effect is often one type of media that is created because of something one saw in something else.