Personal Narrative: The Writing Dilemma
The Writing Dilemma
I never liked to write before, still don’t now. I tolerate it. Well, tolerate wouldn’t be the best word. Let’s just say me and writing have a love hate relationship. I hated it, it hated me. More of a mutual hatred I guess. I used to despise writing and thought it was the dumbest and most useless subject in school. Actually the most useless thing in the world. I was more of a man, or more precisely a boy of numbers. There was this one time where in 6th grade I had to write a realistic fiction, mystery, adventure, or fantasy story. I couldn’t do it. I tried making a story about flying potatoes and stuff, but I just couldn’t do it. After getting the assignment I said to my teacher,
“Mrs. Wowzniak, why do I have to write a story, isn’t math like 100 times more important?“ and I was dead serious because I resented writing so much.
“You need to write, it’s for your grade. Do you want to fail?“ she sighed in a irritated voice as if this had happened before. Which it actually has a few times.
“No“, I answered in a sad voice. So I got to thinking why not make a 1 page book with letters that take up the whole page and loads of pictures? It seemed like a …show more content…
foolproof plan until Mrs. Wow (Wowzniak) said we needed 5 whole, single spaced, quality pages. I screamed dramatically in my mind with probably about 75% of the class. The other 25 percent of the class were either writers or people who weren’t even paying attention. There were people who could actually write a book with like 50 pages. LIke seriously! Are the bones in their hands made of metal! If I ever wrote that much I would get a severe case of carpal tunnel. I started to panic and didn’t know what to do. I went on with that day thinking about what I should write. When I got home, I started to read an old book I had. In the box labeled: “Garbage.“ I didn’t read that much which is probably why I don’t have many books. Believe me, I do like to read but it’s more the kind of book. I hate all these new books with weird wording a repetitive plot it. I don’t think I’ve actually read any book I wasn’t forced to read in about 6 months. Enough ranting, now to the book. “The Cat in the Hat.“ Genius.How does he think of this stuff? I must have accidentally dropped this in here. I read the entire book front to back until I found a flier inside the book. “The World’s Greatest Writers Coming to California!“ Instantly I had an idea in my head. Maybe that convention could help me make my story. Or better yet… bribe someone to do it for me. I really needed help with this and I was determined to write this book. My mom says that I’m just lazy and I can write but just choose not to, but I know that I was just born with a learning disability. Only for writing. People say I’m like a human calculator, but with writing it’s a whole ‘nother story. I’d say that I’m more like a broken keyboard on a extremely slow computer when it comes to actually sitting down to write. A week had passed and I had nothing on my paper. Not even a single word and the assignment was due tomorrow. Luckily, today was the day of convention. Right after school I headed straight to there. As soon as I got to the building it was being held at I could already tell it was packed. There were people on the outside waiting for it to open. All of them wearing their favorite costumes from their favorite books and comics. Many people even asked me, “Who are you supposed to be?“ Usually It wouldn’t bother me so much, but it happened so frequently I decided to have some fun and started to say stuff like, “Does anyone know who they really are in life?“ That sure scared them off. It wasn’t long until the doors opened and everyone rushed in. I was the last to walk in. Straight off I saw a bunch of writers and a lot of comic book writers like Dav Pilkey, (You know, that guy who made Captain Underpants?), Jeff Kinney, and the person I don’t know the name of that makes those boring dragon books.(Yeah no one was in that stand, if you like those books I’m sorry) I saw that Mr. Pilkey’s line was short so I went there. I really didn’t read many of those Captain Underpants, but everyone knew him and he was pretty famous so his books must be good. The line moved fast so I got to the front of the line pretty easily and was handed this cool new 10 paged comic book! I’m totally gonna read that when I get home! As you probably can’t tell I am being sarcastic. You already know which box that’s going in. I got called to the booth and said hello and asked Mr. Pilkey in my most innocent sounding voice, “Hello I’m looking for inspiration for a school assignment. Or better yet someone to do it for me.“ I held out a clean dollar bill and smirked. He laughed at me and answered, “I won’t write it for you, but read my new book and that might help you. Also remember to add some humor.“ Then he screams “Next!“ and I look at him blankly. His books must be pretty funny because to me that was a joke. I was pretty mad about him ignoring so I gave him a dirty look. Forget the box I was going to keep his book. It was going straight to the garbage.
I stayed at the convention and headed for another booth. I looked around cluelessly and saw this huge line filled with happy children stretching across the middle of the big room. It was so long they had to make it twist to the right then the left so it didn’t take up so much room! What writer could this be? I ask one of the children standing in line.
“Only like the best children’s book writer in history!“ she giggles excitedly.
“You didn’t answer my question.“ I reply.
“Patricia Polacco!“ She screams at me as her mother tells her to quiet down. It took me a bit to process and figure out who that was because that crazed fan almost made my ear drums explode, and like you know I don’t read much. I knew who she was. I liked her books. So I just decided to got into the line and waited for a while. The line moved sort of slow, but that wasn’t a problem because I had all the time in the world. I got close to the front and saw that the line leaded to a tent. It was my turn and I got inside the tent. There was this enormous rock behind Patricia Polacco and I tell her why I’m really there and ask her,
“What, how, and where do you think a good story would be?“ Again like Mr. Pilkey she laughed at me.
“A good story needs to be interesting, and have memorable characters, and not too much action like those darn Michael Bay movies!“ She chuckles.
“Ok then, got anything to say about your next book?“ I persisted
“No but I can help you.“ She sighed and brings me to the rock behind her.
“This is the asteroid that fell into my very back yard many years ago.“ She announces in a very sorrow voice. (And actual asteroid landed in her backyard in real life.)
“I thought that was fake!“ I exclaimed in delight. It was so shiny and I felt like touching it.
“Well you’re seeing it now, so what you have to do is touch this rock and make any wish you want, but…“ I touch the rock in a heartbeat before she finishes and make a wish.
“But you cannot wish for money or more wishes!“ she warned. Of course I had to wish for both of those things. I look at her like as if I was communicating with her through my mind saying, “I’m sorry.“ She kicks me out and I leave the booth. It’s all mumbo jumbo...right? I say to myself trying to make me feel not so sad.
Memorable characters, humor, interesting? What does that even mean! I was starting to think that maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea. I heard a rumble when walking around. It was my stomach. I headed to the food court to maybe get something to eat, but was met with this huge wall of people. They were wearing some kind of black robe and holding a pointed stick. Some of them even had a lightning bolt on their forehead. I tried walking around, but it was way too long, so I just cut right through. I got something to eat and waited in the line. Unlike Mrs. Polacco’s line this one moved very, very, very slowly. Probably because the people waiting in this line wanted all their wands, books, robes, foreheads, and other body parts signed by whoever was at the end of this line. I had to ask someone nevertheless who this person was because again I had no idea who it was. Her name was J.K. Rowling. She makes these wizard books and movies. I really didn’t care. I waited for about 2 and a half hours until I snapped and broke straight through the hundreds of people and went straight for J.K Rowling. The security chased me but for some odd reason Mrs. Rowling stopped them. The people I had cut started yelling their magic spells that they read in the books. They were just chanting gibberish like “Wingardium Leviosa” and stuff. It was actually pretty funny. Mrs. Rowling stopped me in my tracks and asked me why I was cutting everyone and what I needed. I explained to her that I needed her help.
“I’m sorry but I can’t help you.” she said in a nice voice.
“But, Why!” I pleaded. The security told me to leave and I walked away steaming mad.
It was getting late and I needed help. I was looking around desperately for short lines, but they were all filled or there just weren’t any. I was scrambling around until I saw it. The rhyme maker, the unofficial doctor of rhymes, the greatest children’s book writer ever known, Dr. Seuss. I know it’s probably just an impersonator, but I was desperate! I quickly rushed over and explained to him my dilemma.
“Oh you really are in a pickle.“ he says in a fake, over-the-top, narrator-like, voice.
“Ok can you write for me by any chance?“ I asked him fast while trying to mimic his funny voice. It was almost 12 and I had to be home or I would be late to school
tomorrow
“No but I can give you a few pointers!“ He answered. After hearing that I just cracked.
“No! Enough with pointers, I have asked numerous writers to help me and not one has even been remotely helpful! I have scrambled around all day, touched a rock, and have gotten multiple useless pointers!“ I rambled angrily.
“Well that sounds like a pretty good story to me.“ he told me.
“Wait, really?“ I question. I can’t believe I had been so dumb. I quickly rushed away thanking him and start jotting down words in my notebook. I was running so fast down the street I was breaking records. I was also probably breaking a record for words written down because my hand was moving so fast it was a blur. I was sweating by the time I got through the door to my house. I went straight to my kitchen counter and was writing down words. I was so, so tired that I fell flat on my paper. When I got up that morning my paper was stuck to my face and my hand ached really bad. I went to school with a full 5 pages and plopped it straight on Mrs. Wowz’ desk and walked away happily. It took about a week until everyone’s paper was graded and I got mine back. According to her and I quote: “Your paper was illegible.“, “It was smudged and the I couldn’t and I can’t read anything.“ Also there were very man unhappy smiley faces. I guess I must have drooled and sweated a little bit on the paper when I was zooming around because there were just a few scribbles on the paper. I got no credit. I guess this sort of is writing but it’s just a short story. You wouldn’t believe what it took to write this and now I think I’m done with writing forever. I think I will always hate writing for the rest of my life. Writing. Is. Dumb.
I never liked to write before, still don’t now. I tolerate it. Well, tolerate wouldn’t be the best word. Let’s just say me and writing have a love hate relationship. I hated it, it hated me. More of a mutual hatred I guess. I used to despise writing and thought it was the dumbest and most useless subject in school. Actually the most useless thing in the world. I was more of a man, or more precisely a boy of numbers. There was this one time where in 6th grade I had to write a realistic fiction, mystery, adventure, or fantasy story. I couldn’t do it. I tried making a story about flying potatoes and stuff, but I just couldn’t do it. After getting the assignment I said to my teacher,
“Mrs. Wowzniak, why do I have to write a story, isn’t math like 100 times more important?“ and I was dead serious because I resented writing so much.
“You need to write, it’s for your grade. Do you want to fail?“ she sighed in a irritated voice as if this had happened before. Which it actually has a few times.
“No“, I answered in a sad voice. So I got to thinking why not make a 1 page book with letters that take up the whole page and loads of pictures? It seemed like a …show more content…
foolproof plan until Mrs. Wow (Wowzniak) said we needed 5 whole, single spaced, quality pages. I screamed dramatically in my mind with probably about 75% of the class. The other 25 percent of the class were either writers or people who weren’t even paying attention. There were people who could actually write a book with like 50 pages. LIke seriously! Are the bones in their hands made of metal! If I ever wrote that much I would get a severe case of carpal tunnel. I started to panic and didn’t know what to do. I went on with that day thinking about what I should write. When I got home, I started to read an old book I had. In the box labeled: “Garbage.“ I didn’t read that much which is probably why I don’t have many books. Believe me, I do like to read but it’s more the kind of book. I hate all these new books with weird wording a repetitive plot it. I don’t think I’ve actually read any book I wasn’t forced to read in about 6 months. Enough ranting, now to the book. “The Cat in the Hat.“ Genius.How does he think of this stuff? I must have accidentally dropped this in here. I read the entire book front to back until I found a flier inside the book. “The World’s Greatest Writers Coming to California!“ Instantly I had an idea in my head. Maybe that convention could help me make my story. Or better yet… bribe someone to do it for me. I really needed help with this and I was determined to write this book. My mom says that I’m just lazy and I can write but just choose not to, but I know that I was just born with a learning disability. Only for writing. People say I’m like a human calculator, but with writing it’s a whole ‘nother story. I’d say that I’m more like a broken keyboard on a extremely slow computer when it comes to actually sitting down to write. A week had passed and I had nothing on my paper. Not even a single word and the assignment was due tomorrow. Luckily, today was the day of convention. Right after school I headed straight to there. As soon as I got to the building it was being held at I could already tell it was packed. There were people on the outside waiting for it to open. All of them wearing their favorite costumes from their favorite books and comics. Many people even asked me, “Who are you supposed to be?“ Usually It wouldn’t bother me so much, but it happened so frequently I decided to have some fun and started to say stuff like, “Does anyone know who they really are in life?“ That sure scared them off. It wasn’t long until the doors opened and everyone rushed in. I was the last to walk in. Straight off I saw a bunch of writers and a lot of comic book writers like Dav Pilkey, (You know, that guy who made Captain Underpants?), Jeff Kinney, and the person I don’t know the name of that makes those boring dragon books.(Yeah no one was in that stand, if you like those books I’m sorry) I saw that Mr. Pilkey’s line was short so I went there. I really didn’t read many of those Captain Underpants, but everyone knew him and he was pretty famous so his books must be good. The line moved fast so I got to the front of the line pretty easily and was handed this cool new 10 paged comic book! I’m totally gonna read that when I get home! As you probably can’t tell I am being sarcastic. You already know which box that’s going in. I got called to the booth and said hello and asked Mr. Pilkey in my most innocent sounding voice, “Hello I’m looking for inspiration for a school assignment. Or better yet someone to do it for me.“ I held out a clean dollar bill and smirked. He laughed at me and answered, “I won’t write it for you, but read my new book and that might help you. Also remember to add some humor.“ Then he screams “Next!“ and I look at him blankly. His books must be pretty funny because to me that was a joke. I was pretty mad about him ignoring so I gave him a dirty look. Forget the box I was going to keep his book. It was going straight to the garbage.
I stayed at the convention and headed for another booth. I looked around cluelessly and saw this huge line filled with happy children stretching across the middle of the big room. It was so long they had to make it twist to the right then the left so it didn’t take up so much room! What writer could this be? I ask one of the children standing in line.
“Only like the best children’s book writer in history!“ she giggles excitedly.
“You didn’t answer my question.“ I reply.
“Patricia Polacco!“ She screams at me as her mother tells her to quiet down. It took me a bit to process and figure out who that was because that crazed fan almost made my ear drums explode, and like you know I don’t read much. I knew who she was. I liked her books. So I just decided to got into the line and waited for a while. The line moved sort of slow, but that wasn’t a problem because I had all the time in the world. I got close to the front and saw that the line leaded to a tent. It was my turn and I got inside the tent. There was this enormous rock behind Patricia Polacco and I tell her why I’m really there and ask her,
“What, how, and where do you think a good story would be?“ Again like Mr. Pilkey she laughed at me.
“A good story needs to be interesting, and have memorable characters, and not too much action like those darn Michael Bay movies!“ She chuckles.
“Ok then, got anything to say about your next book?“ I persisted
“No but I can help you.“ She sighed and brings me to the rock behind her.
“This is the asteroid that fell into my very back yard many years ago.“ She announces in a very sorrow voice. (And actual asteroid landed in her backyard in real life.)
“I thought that was fake!“ I exclaimed in delight. It was so shiny and I felt like touching it.
“Well you’re seeing it now, so what you have to do is touch this rock and make any wish you want, but…“ I touch the rock in a heartbeat before she finishes and make a wish.
“But you cannot wish for money or more wishes!“ she warned. Of course I had to wish for both of those things. I look at her like as if I was communicating with her through my mind saying, “I’m sorry.“ She kicks me out and I leave the booth. It’s all mumbo jumbo...right? I say to myself trying to make me feel not so sad.
Memorable characters, humor, interesting? What does that even mean! I was starting to think that maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea. I heard a rumble when walking around. It was my stomach. I headed to the food court to maybe get something to eat, but was met with this huge wall of people. They were wearing some kind of black robe and holding a pointed stick. Some of them even had a lightning bolt on their forehead. I tried walking around, but it was way too long, so I just cut right through. I got something to eat and waited in the line. Unlike Mrs. Polacco’s line this one moved very, very, very slowly. Probably because the people waiting in this line wanted all their wands, books, robes, foreheads, and other body parts signed by whoever was at the end of this line. I had to ask someone nevertheless who this person was because again I had no idea who it was. Her name was J.K. Rowling. She makes these wizard books and movies. I really didn’t care. I waited for about 2 and a half hours until I snapped and broke straight through the hundreds of people and went straight for J.K Rowling. The security chased me but for some odd reason Mrs. Rowling stopped them. The people I had cut started yelling their magic spells that they read in the books. They were just chanting gibberish like “Wingardium Leviosa” and stuff. It was actually pretty funny. Mrs. Rowling stopped me in my tracks and asked me why I was cutting everyone and what I needed. I explained to her that I needed her help.
“I’m sorry but I can’t help you.” she said in a nice voice.
“But, Why!” I pleaded. The security told me to leave and I walked away steaming mad.
It was getting late and I needed help. I was looking around desperately for short lines, but they were all filled or there just weren’t any. I was scrambling around until I saw it. The rhyme maker, the unofficial doctor of rhymes, the greatest children’s book writer ever known, Dr. Seuss. I know it’s probably just an impersonator, but I was desperate! I quickly rushed over and explained to him my dilemma.
“Oh you really are in a pickle.“ he says in a fake, over-the-top, narrator-like, voice.
“Ok can you write for me by any chance?“ I asked him fast while trying to mimic his funny voice. It was almost 12 and I had to be home or I would be late to school
tomorrow
“No but I can give you a few pointers!“ He answered. After hearing that I just cracked.
“No! Enough with pointers, I have asked numerous writers to help me and not one has even been remotely helpful! I have scrambled around all day, touched a rock, and have gotten multiple useless pointers!“ I rambled angrily.
“Well that sounds like a pretty good story to me.“ he told me.
“Wait, really?“ I question. I can’t believe I had been so dumb. I quickly rushed away thanking him and start jotting down words in my notebook. I was running so fast down the street I was breaking records. I was also probably breaking a record for words written down because my hand was moving so fast it was a blur. I was sweating by the time I got through the door to my house. I went straight to my kitchen counter and was writing down words. I was so, so tired that I fell flat on my paper. When I got up that morning my paper was stuck to my face and my hand ached really bad. I went to school with a full 5 pages and plopped it straight on Mrs. Wowz’ desk and walked away happily. It took about a week until everyone’s paper was graded and I got mine back. According to her and I quote: “Your paper was illegible.“, “It was smudged and the I couldn’t and I can’t read anything.“ Also there were very man unhappy smiley faces. I guess I must have drooled and sweated a little bit on the paper when I was zooming around because there were just a few scribbles on the paper. I got no credit. I guess this sort of is writing but it’s just a short story. You wouldn’t believe what it took to write this and now I think I’m done with writing forever. I think I will always hate writing for the rest of my life. Writing. Is. Dumb.