My Kindergarten Book Publishing Party

Surrounded by a cacophony of adult voices during the kindergarten book publishing celebration, my book about dreams remained tucked away in obscurity. It seemed the world had more pressing matters to discuss that day. However, during the editing process, my English teacher, the embodiment of properness, took a moment to acknowledge my dedication, which hadn’t been to myself. Her worldly knowledge, including the fine art of beans on toast, left an impression, despite my aversion to the bean’s texture and her occasional soggy toast. Her words etched into my young mind the enduring kindness of dedicating one’s dreams to others.

It would take exactly twenty years since then for me to understand the paradox that in doing so, I would have to be unkind to myself.

I wanted to be a portrait painter and artist. I still do.

Drowning in Woolf’s Past: Timed Writing c. 2014

I’m going through some of my old papers from high school, and I’m sharing them here unedited because I want to have a journal on here sharing my progress as I find them.

This is the first one I found.

AP Lang- Period 1

30 October 2014

Drowning in Woolf’s Past: Timed Writing 

Language and word choice determine whether or not readers are able to experience memories with the writer, or simply hear of them. Virginia Woolf, an extremely talented writer, knew how to use language in a way that allowed for any and all people to live alongside her in her past, specifically her summers spent during her childhood. She was more than capable of enhancing these experiences by adding copious amounts of details to them. Woolf’s ability to speak through her stream of conscience and her use of vivid metaphors only contributes to these enhancements, as well. 

Woolf’s use of language enriches the significance of her memories by repeating and going in depth over minute details. Her talent to describe even the most average of characteristics makes it unforced to visualize the summers she spent as young and vulnerable girl. For example, Woolf tells the readers that her brother, Thoby’s eyes were not just blue eyes but they were “blue eyes very blue.” Woolf also spends more than a few sentences remembering her “passion” for fishing and her father’s unapologetic attitude against the sport. She intertwines her father and herself effortlessly by using these thrilling words that contrast, yet combine their views. It is her attention to specifics such as this one that makes it clear she is not just glancing over her summer; Woolf is remembering the lasting impact her family made on her.

Woolf uses her stream of conscience to leave her memories lingering on readers’ minds. She does not always follow a strict type of language style. She uses analogies followed by a “but” that does not flow the way one would necessarily believe it to be. She asks questions directed towards herself as if she is completely baffled about the specific topics, but follows the questions with extraordinarily accurate answers to them, too. Through her back-and-forth style of language that mimics her thought process, one is able to understand the impact her childhood has left on Woolf. 

A large part of Woolf’s childhood is relayed through a metaphor: a single seed. Woolf compares her passion for fishing with a seed. She speaks of her love for fishing as a love for “the thrill and the tug”, meaning she enjoyed the unexpected moments fishing brought to her. This is similar to a seed because seeds grow into such new creations than they were previously thought to be. Woolf continues the metaphor by adding that every person has a seed that will take a unique growth route than another’s seed. Woolf’s metaphor finalizes the message that her one summer spent fishing with her brother and father changed her forever. 

Overall, Woolf’s ability to use language in a smorgasbord of ways makes it so apparent that the one day in the one summer in her one childhood renovated everything she thought and valued. Her richly contrasting wording through her attention to details, her stream of conscience, and her enduring metaphor are what is able to fully serve that purpose.

So that’s that. And then this just came up on my tiktok, and it’s making me think in relation to this essay.

Writing Scholarship Essays Like I’m Not So Sick I’m Taking the Semester Off & Crying About It

I have applied to 21 scholarships today. TWENTY-ONE. Not TWENTY-FUN. I am not turning the legal age to drink in America. I am literaLLY dying out here trying to save every spare penny a bi$h can. LITERALLY. And I am using literally correctly so COME AT ME. Or probably don’t; I have no good comebacks up my sleeve at the moment. That is because my sleeve is filled with my salty AF tears.

WHY?

I am so freakkkkking sick and tired of a life in solitude with my poodle. No offense, Tucker, but it is just not the same as being in class. I am just over it. That is why I had to buy Snoop Dog’s wine today from target. I had to because there was no other option for me.

That is ALSO why I had to put it in a portable container before I head out for my nightly walk with Tuck Tuck Goose.

I just cannot even believe this catastrophe of my social and academic career. I NEEEEEEEEEED someone to cut me a break and either get me a book deal or a reality show deal. Preferably the book deal. But I won’t mind some Kim K. action either.

Alright toodles. My Snoop wine awaits me. Can’t wait to walk my dog, drink this wine, and cry HAHAHHA.

K bye bishezzzz,

MOI