Post by moonlightgranger on Nov 18, 2007 2:25:58 GMT -5
Well, we had to write a autobiographical narative essay for English class, and I wrote one as well. Here it is. Please comment!
Autobiography Narrative Essay
A Disciplinary action to remember
A sense of boredom, hot red angry hatred, and foreboding came from the seemingly thick wordy volumes of books on the many tall brown shelves. They didn't occur to be of any particular use or value for me. It was not until someone made me open up a book to read did I start to love it. My parents didn't permit me to stop reading even though it was boring or else I would have destroyed the whole particularly small apartment, which had only two rooms. my mother is a person to be acknowledged had made me read a book. It was a little mistake I had made that made me have a disliking for reading.
One afternoon, a short plump asian girl dared to pick up a book that was way to hard for her and slowly started to read it. I didn't understand it at all and not in the slightest sense did I have interest in it. A trickle of hot angry hatred came to me. I started to hate books, because I couldn't understand them. They made absolutely no sense to me at all. If that was the case, then there simply was no value in them. I roughly picked up the book and felt the feelings of frustration mixed with pure hatred wash over me. I flung open the cabinet door hard and threw the book inside with much force. It felt very satisfying to hear the book hit the back of the wooden shelf with a loud bomb. I slammed the door shut with all my might and avoided opening it for days. Since then, I avoided reading altogether and turned my interests to the creatively enjoyable art of writing instead. If books were not decent enough then, I'd better write one myself. I kept up with my writing and massive production of short silly stories. Then one day, I just simply ran out of the thick brown braille paper I wrote on.
I could go outside and play, but I'd done that already. I had played hard for a while with the active kids that were four to five years younger than me. Now, I was absolutely and utterly bored out of my mind. I couldn't do anything, but run around the house being extremely loud, being totally crazy, and being a trouble maker. My thin mother was rather weary and tired. Making havoc stressed her out even more. She told me firmly, "Why don't you go read a book?" I told her angrily that I hated them very much and don't wish even to pick one up. She sternly told me to try one and maybe I'd enjoy it. My mother made me sit down next to my desk in our awfully small congested bedroom, and made me listen to a book. The one and only tape I had was the long boring book named Harry Potter And The Sorcerer Stone, which was in six tapes. I sat there squirming very impatiently listening to the extremely long and boring first chapter. So, I swiftly stopped the annoying tape and quickly ran out of the room. Energetically, I screamed loudly about the tape being so boring.
Some mothers won't make you read, but that wasn't who my mother was. She told me firmly that was nonsense, and that I really should try even more of the book before I complained. She also said that I had just started, so to give it a more of a try, because I had just started listening to it not to long ago. "Mum, I hate it, because it's so boring, and I don't want to read it!" I had rudely and annoyingly shouted that bit at her. She told me that I shouldn't and it was just the beginning. I had to sit back down to read it, no matter how grudgingly it was, because there was nothing else to do. So, very grudgingly I sat down in my hard spinning five wheeled chair again. I started the tape very slowly and unwillingly feeling ready to cry. I was quite uncomfortable and stressed out. I listened to the second chapter, which was a bit more exciting then the first one, but still very boring. Although unwilling too, I read on, because I knew if I didn't my mother would scream her head off at me again. I got really interested and into it after I finish the sixth chapter, where Harry arrived at Kings Cross station.
I dearly loved the excellent book now, and wouldn't stop listening, not even for an excellent dinner cook by my mother. I told my mother, that I didn't want to eat, and continue to read this book very carefully. I finished it after a day or two of exciting reading. Then, I started to read other things, for example, small magazines and other exciting books. I was rather glad my weary mother had made me read that, and so now I truly appreciate books loads more. I gently picked up all the braille books in my small house, and read them all very carefully. I even read the book that I had violently thrown in the cabinet three years ago. I could see the true meaning and I could see the value now. I love books, and absolutely fell in love with them.
Later, I found the other Harry Potter books, and read them all through carefully. They became my favorite book series, and I feel very strongly about them. Also, books became a enjoyable and comfortable part of life, but I still wrote, which I never stopped doing. I also got several of my friends into Harry Potter, and also into reading, which make me proud.
I can still feel the joy, warmth, thankfulness, love, and compassion I had for my mother after I finished reading the first Harry Potter book. I could still feel the tender love for the book that I read. I never stopped reading and never will. This event really helped me in realizing how great, and valuable books are. It started my love for books, and a passion that will last a life time. I am so glad that my mother had made me read it, and forced me to sit still to listen. I am glad she told me to keep trying, and that it will get more exciting. Passions never fades, and the memory of them starting always last, especially if someone had forced you to do it. I still laugh about it, because it's all so funny how that boring book out of all books became my favorite. My mother did a honorable thing, so I didn't have to feel a sense of hatred towards books. I am sure it was only for the greater good.
Autobiography Narrative Essay
A Disciplinary action to remember
A sense of boredom, hot red angry hatred, and foreboding came from the seemingly thick wordy volumes of books on the many tall brown shelves. They didn't occur to be of any particular use or value for me. It was not until someone made me open up a book to read did I start to love it. My parents didn't permit me to stop reading even though it was boring or else I would have destroyed the whole particularly small apartment, which had only two rooms. my mother is a person to be acknowledged had made me read a book. It was a little mistake I had made that made me have a disliking for reading.
One afternoon, a short plump asian girl dared to pick up a book that was way to hard for her and slowly started to read it. I didn't understand it at all and not in the slightest sense did I have interest in it. A trickle of hot angry hatred came to me. I started to hate books, because I couldn't understand them. They made absolutely no sense to me at all. If that was the case, then there simply was no value in them. I roughly picked up the book and felt the feelings of frustration mixed with pure hatred wash over me. I flung open the cabinet door hard and threw the book inside with much force. It felt very satisfying to hear the book hit the back of the wooden shelf with a loud bomb. I slammed the door shut with all my might and avoided opening it for days. Since then, I avoided reading altogether and turned my interests to the creatively enjoyable art of writing instead. If books were not decent enough then, I'd better write one myself. I kept up with my writing and massive production of short silly stories. Then one day, I just simply ran out of the thick brown braille paper I wrote on.
I could go outside and play, but I'd done that already. I had played hard for a while with the active kids that were four to five years younger than me. Now, I was absolutely and utterly bored out of my mind. I couldn't do anything, but run around the house being extremely loud, being totally crazy, and being a trouble maker. My thin mother was rather weary and tired. Making havoc stressed her out even more. She told me firmly, "Why don't you go read a book?" I told her angrily that I hated them very much and don't wish even to pick one up. She sternly told me to try one and maybe I'd enjoy it. My mother made me sit down next to my desk in our awfully small congested bedroom, and made me listen to a book. The one and only tape I had was the long boring book named Harry Potter And The Sorcerer Stone, which was in six tapes. I sat there squirming very impatiently listening to the extremely long and boring first chapter. So, I swiftly stopped the annoying tape and quickly ran out of the room. Energetically, I screamed loudly about the tape being so boring.
Some mothers won't make you read, but that wasn't who my mother was. She told me firmly that was nonsense, and that I really should try even more of the book before I complained. She also said that I had just started, so to give it a more of a try, because I had just started listening to it not to long ago. "Mum, I hate it, because it's so boring, and I don't want to read it!" I had rudely and annoyingly shouted that bit at her. She told me that I shouldn't and it was just the beginning. I had to sit back down to read it, no matter how grudgingly it was, because there was nothing else to do. So, very grudgingly I sat down in my hard spinning five wheeled chair again. I started the tape very slowly and unwillingly feeling ready to cry. I was quite uncomfortable and stressed out. I listened to the second chapter, which was a bit more exciting then the first one, but still very boring. Although unwilling too, I read on, because I knew if I didn't my mother would scream her head off at me again. I got really interested and into it after I finish the sixth chapter, where Harry arrived at Kings Cross station.
I dearly loved the excellent book now, and wouldn't stop listening, not even for an excellent dinner cook by my mother. I told my mother, that I didn't want to eat, and continue to read this book very carefully. I finished it after a day or two of exciting reading. Then, I started to read other things, for example, small magazines and other exciting books. I was rather glad my weary mother had made me read that, and so now I truly appreciate books loads more. I gently picked up all the braille books in my small house, and read them all very carefully. I even read the book that I had violently thrown in the cabinet three years ago. I could see the true meaning and I could see the value now. I love books, and absolutely fell in love with them.
Later, I found the other Harry Potter books, and read them all through carefully. They became my favorite book series, and I feel very strongly about them. Also, books became a enjoyable and comfortable part of life, but I still wrote, which I never stopped doing. I also got several of my friends into Harry Potter, and also into reading, which make me proud.
I can still feel the joy, warmth, thankfulness, love, and compassion I had for my mother after I finished reading the first Harry Potter book. I could still feel the tender love for the book that I read. I never stopped reading and never will. This event really helped me in realizing how great, and valuable books are. It started my love for books, and a passion that will last a life time. I am so glad that my mother had made me read it, and forced me to sit still to listen. I am glad she told me to keep trying, and that it will get more exciting. Passions never fades, and the memory of them starting always last, especially if someone had forced you to do it. I still laugh about it, because it's all so funny how that boring book out of all books became my favorite. My mother did a honorable thing, so I didn't have to feel a sense of hatred towards books. I am sure it was only for the greater good.