Cailean+R

=Moving: A Rambling Autobiography =

I moved to Georgia in the 4th grade. Up until that time, I had always thought of moving as a myth, something that other people did in books or on TV. But soon a yellow Penske truck was parked in our driveway, and all of our furniture was either being sold or packed into musty smelling cardboard boxes. I grew up on a quiet neighborhood street in Ann Arbor, MI. Up until the move, I had enjoyed snowy winters, mild summers and the comfort of having my entire family only 12 blocks away. To my 11 year old eyes, Atlanta, a dry, big city, larger than Detroit, was terrifying. Of course now my thoughts have changed. I have met my best friends here. I have a new house, big enough to hold my parents my brother and two of the most adorable and insane cats you will ever meet, Athena and Persephone. I have gone to the best middle school I could ever imagine, met some of the best teachers and taken the best classes. Of course, there are still drawbacks. My family, 18 hours and thousands of miles away, became a distant memory in the first few years. Their lives move on without us to see. Birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, all missed because we aren't up there any more. Still, we make the drive twice a year and it makes seeing each other much more special than it was before. Though I may not have liked it at first, moving to Georgia was good for me and more importantly, my family.



Down the road, at a midnight hour black as death, a blind man hobbles. His stick, a branch ripped wildly from an elm tree, thumps upon the stone of the winding road. Its sound echoes around him in the dark. A patch of cloth, bloodstained and torn from the cloak of a passing soldier, wraps tightly around the bloody holes where eyes once lay. His shoes, once new and fine, are tattered and cold, as holes upon the sole chill his aching feet. Before him, a world of pain and inky unknown. Behind him, a house where he once worked and laughed and kissed his wife and children. His hand waves wildly in the air, caressing the night as if it were an old friend. His weathered face, as caked and dry as the road beneath his feet, whips about at every noise. He knows they are coming. But hobbling he must go, for blind men do not move quickly. Above him, a vulture circles, sensing easy prey below. His mind is his only comfort now, and it paints pictures of what might have been. Images of his family rip away at his heart and slowly his stumbling stride becomes slower and slower, until he must stop to catch his breath. His heart aches as he wills his mind to silence. He knows he must freeze his heart to stone if he is to survive, but the beating warmth of it threatens to overwhelm him. He rests on a rock. The vulture caws, circling down to take the kill. But he is up! The blind man moves, running from death. He trips and falls. The stone feels cool against his cheek. The blind man picks himself up. He stretches his stick out. Down the road, at a midnight hour as black as death, a blind man hobbles. Behind him, a house where he once lived. Before him, a world inky with night and a great unknown.

Rough Draft of Personal Essay

 If I could spend a day with anyone, it would be Jane Austen. I know pretty cliche for a girl who wants to be a writer, but I have the highest respect for Jane Austen out of any person in the literary world. I would love to spend the day with her because she has my sense of humor, she stayed true to real life in her novels and she was determined to do what she loved no matter what anyone thought.

 Jane Austen was not rich, her family did not have a good name within society and she did not lead a comfortable and carefree life. Jane was saved however, by her sense of humor. Being able to write comedy into her stories, like heroines with teasing personalities and silly mothers who gossip all the time represents Jane's own sense of humor and how she used it to liven her own life. I don't live exactly the same life as Jane did, but I try and help in stressful situations by providing a joke, which I think is exactly what Jane tried to do in her novels. For example, in Pride and Prejudice when Lady Catherine de Bourg was questioning Elizabeth about her engagement to Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth laughs in her face about her even supposing that she was engaged to Darcy. Eliabeth was being accused by someone of greater power than her, but she still was able to bring humor into the situation, which I think reflects upon Jane's own ability to do the exact same thing.

 The biggest way that Jane kept to the truth and realism in her novels was through her characters. Often in romantic novels, both the man and the woman are totally perfect and fall in love with each other immediately. Jane understood that in real life, people were not all good or all bad, they often had a mix inside of them, so she created characters that were exactly like that. Mr. Darcy, who appears pompous, rude and proud in the beginning of Pride and Prejudice eventually turns out to be wonderful in the end because of his love for Elizabeth. Mr. Elton from Emma appears to be in love with Emma's best friend Harriet, but he ends up marrying a horrible woman for her money instead. In Sense and Sensibility, Marianne and Mr. Willoughby fall in love, but he deserts her for a richer woman, breaking Marianne's heart. Jane understood that in life, people who love each other do not always get to be together. The realism that stands true within all of her novels is what I admire very much about Jane and want to communicate in my own novel.

 There weren't any really famous women writers in Jane Austen's time. She wanted to be a writer more than anything, but her whole life was to be about finding a rich husband and providing a male heir to continue her family's name. Jane grew up in a poor family, so her mother was obsessed with getting good marriages for her daughters so that they could be comfortable. Jane wanted to marry for love however, and make a living off of her writing. No matter what anybody thought, she knew that she had a talent and that she would be happy as long as she was writing. I want to be a writer as well, so if I were given the opportunity to discuss Jane's struggle to become a published author I would be able to take a good lesson away from her about perseverance.

Jane Austen is one of if not the most famous female writer of all time. To have the opportunity to speak to her would be unbelievable. She will forever be my role model and one of the most important people to me throughout my life.

SAT Practice Essay

Memories, both good bad are in our heads forever. no matter how hard we may try, they don't go away. And there are things in the world, be it situations or people that are going to bring those memories to light. This is not a bad thing. Old memories can help in many ways in life. In the second grade, I was on a girl scout trip, when one of our leaders tripped and gashed her leg so much so that she could not walk. I immediately remembered the time when my mom fell from our porch steps onto the pavement and got a similar cut in her leg. I had watched my dad bring her inside, wash the cut and put the right medications and bandages on it. Because I brought up this particular memory, I was able to clean my leader's wound and put a temporary bandage on it so that we could walk back to the cabin. Memories aren't just helpful in situations where people get hurt though. Imagine that you are a medical student and your resident asks your class about the side effects of a certain medication on patients 50 and above. Nobody has ever read about a situation where the medication was used on a person older than 20, so the question remains unanswered. Then, you recall that your great-grandfather had taken the medication to cure his stomach flu. You remember him vomiting a lot and complaining of extreme fatigue. You quickly relate this to your residcent and suddenly, because of that old memory, you are at the top of your class. Memories can also help other people. My friend, Martha came over to my house one day crying. She told me that they had just learned that her grandfather has passed away. She asked me if she would ever be happy again. I had just recently lost my uncle, so I tried to remember what I felt like at his death. I told her that she would be sad for an impossibly long time, but then eventually, she would remember all of the positive memories about him and be able to move on. Because of that old memory, I was able to console a friend in her time of need. Though some may think memories can hinder situations, they mostly just help. They can help someone who is injured or grieving, or help to answer a difficult question. All in all memories are what define us, and what help us to excel into the future and beyond.

<span style="font-family: 'Arial Black',Gadget,sans-serif;">Reflections

<span style="font-family: 'Arial Black',Gadget,sans-serif;">I had a wonderful time at this camp. When I came in I was expecting a classroom environment and a lot of awkward silences when people were asked to share. I've always loved writing; it's been easy for me all of my life. I love fiction and absolutely hate non-fiction, I can barely combine interesting writing and facts, it's really difficult. I've learned a lot about brush strokes, which I think will really help me in the future. I am most proud of my blind pew piece because I think it uses imagery, sytax and diction really well. I really don't have any suggestions at all, I really like how we got to have breaks outside, and how we didn't just get assignments to write about, we actually were taught something.