Reflection

Starting out my senior year taking college classes excited me but it was still nerve-wracking because I knew that these grades would be the start of my college transcript. My goals for this semester were to achieve an 85 or higher on every exam and to possibly get an “A” in the class. Those were unrealistic goals now that I look back because to attain high grades, I would have work for it. My goals should have been to commit most of time to studying and reviewing the lessons and concepts that I learned instead of complaining my way through the semester. In the end, I did not accomplish my goal because I abused my freedom to an extent that should have been restrained. It was only towards the end of the college classes that I buckled down and focused and got the grades I wanted. Unfortunately, I should have done that from the start.
Like many others, I struggle with time management and I procrastinate a lot. Recently, I’ve tried to eliminate some of the distractions at my house except for face book and I still had a difficult time focusing. Weeks ago I realized that it was my entire house that was a distraction because I was too comfortable in my room that anything and everything would be a distraction. I then began staying late at hunter college, studying and getting most of my work done and so far, it has worked so I have finally found my solution.
This past semester, I took college algebra 101 and geography and at different points, I struggled with both classes. I underestimated college algebra because I imagined it being somewhat similar to the high school algebra and I was completely wrong. In some aspects it was close but overall, it was a challenge. In the end, I may have received a “b” in that class. Geography class is headache in a bottle by itself. I found it extremely difficult to wrap my head around the information and the teacher was no help and that was when I realized I had to help myself. Eventually I gave up; I couldn’t understand it and I joined the class and their complaints.
In one year, I see myself attending a four year SUNY college beginning my nursing career. In five years, I see myself working at the ER in a hospital while continuing my education to become a doctor. In ten years, I see myself working as a cardiologist, travelling all over the world, helping third world countries. To achieve these goals, I need to be focused; I will have to find an efficient way to balance school, work, and free time. I will need to find other options than giving up because when I become a doctor, I can’t give up on my patients because it gets too hard. I will have to find a way to persevere and reach my goals.
I am unsure as to who I am as a writer because I feel that my writing is never understood the way I meant it to because I have a hard time putting my thoughts onto paper. I think it is important to be a successful writer because it gives you another way to express your ideas and thoughts; it gives off a good impression and helps you get better jobs. If I were to write a book, my skills of engaging the reader would be beneficial to me at that moment because I know people would want to read the book.
In fiction writing, I learned that you have to be a good liar which means that you have to be extremely convincing to make the reader believe what you have written. You also need to make the story relatable to the reader to have them interact with the book in certain ways. One of the most important things I learned in fiction writing is that it is necessary and acceptable to write shitty first drafts.
I can’t remember the actual name of the piece, but I know it was after reading chapter two. I wrote a short story using excessive descriptions and I loved writing that the most. It gave me a chance to combine words together into a form of prose rhythm and think outside of the box.
Some concepts that come easy to me are significant details and descriptive writing. Usually that’s where my writing flourishes because I love using adjectives to tell a story and it just comes natural for me. However, I have a hard time with subtext and putting my exact thoughts into words because it always comes out different on paper. I feel that I need to write more drafts and always carry my journal with me so that just in case a thought attacks my brain, I can write it down right away.
By the end of this year, the skills and lessons that were taught to be good fiction writing will benefit me every day through my college classes and applying to jobs. It also encourages me write about a real life event, and tweak almost every detail to transform it into good fiction. Also, through this pre-college program, I have had the advantage of knowing the effect of time management and studying at the last minute. I know that it will be necessary to study two weeks before my final so that I won’t need to stay up all night doing last minute studying.
This portfolio represents my creative abilities as a student, to transform lessons and concepts into actual work. As a person, this portfolio represents me to the fullest. All my writing reflects some personal aspect of me in them. I believe that all the writing on this portfolio is honest; it contains all aspects of my personality and the way I think through each work and it will continue.

Final Draft :title: shadow

“Hello, my name Angela and I am a former drug addict. Today, your teacher asked me to speak with you about the dangers of drugs and how it affects your body and manipulates the human thought. First, I will tell you a personal story that happened to me ten years ago.”
I hardly remember that night, it was cold and that late night shift lasted longer than usual. I remember being in the bathroom of an old auto mechanic shop on Broad Street looking into the half cracked mirror while I dabbed the last ounce of red shimmer on my used lips, took my panties off and put on my matching red strap up heels. I had one needle left and I shot up. I put my coat on and headed to the corner of 231st and Arc Avenue. I waited, it was a slow night, my lipstick was drying out and the constant flickering of lights in the cross only made it that much colder. An hour later, a black van slowly crept up by the curb and the window slowly came down.
“Mystic Angel”, he said
“Yeah that’s me” I said
“Come inside” he said
I went inside and the car and I could tell that the seat was new leather; he was a new client I thought. He drove off and stopped two blocks down, stuck his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a Las Vegas Police Department badge then stuck the chains on my hands. Although my heart was in bondage, I kicked, I screamed, I begged for him to let go. His head was faced forward and he remained silent.
The precinct was fifteen minutes away and I knew this was my last chance. It was never my fault, a shadow have been casted ever since my childhood days. The cold wind would always remind me how my mother made some of her own money. She would buy the nicest underwear and bras for me to make me presentable for my job. I was around thirteen when I started. At first she would go with me, to see how well I fit in, and then she would occasionally join me for overtime pay. During week days, I would only work from 10pm-1am and on weekends; I would work till 2a.m. Holidays were the busiest time for me; I barely had breaks and the pills my mom gave me to stay awake began to have a negative effect on me.
I struggled to open the door, but the officer came to escort me anyway. He walked behind me and pushed me forward considering my feet never wanted to leave the ground. I walked into the station as if I was crippled; I mumbled words and everyone looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I couldn’t imagine my life behind bars. With a quick move, I ran. I glided through the double doors. As I headed for the fire escape, I hit my head against the glass case and landed in front of a blurry mirror. I saw my reflection, she was much older and she just stood there. She didn’t have the same clothes I had but the face looked exactly like me; white and pale with grey eyes and a pointy nose. I struggled to get a better look. I tried wiping the mirror with the sleeve of my jacket but it got worse and my reflection began to fade. It was then, I knew.
They finally caught up to me and grabbed me up off the floor with the handcuffs still tightly holding me together. I turned my head slowly and the image was completely gone. A sigh of relief escaped through my lips as I walked to my cell with my head down.
For about two years, I stayed in rehab and luckily I was able to start school all over again and find a decent job. I see everyone has a different look on their face, what are your immediate reactions?

3rd Draft - Shadows

I hardly remember that night, it was cold and that late night shift lasted longer than usual. I remember being in the bathroom of an old auto mechanic shop on Broad Street looking into the half cracked mirror while I dabbed the last ounce of red shimmer on my used lips, took my panties off and put on my matching red strap up heels. I had one needle left and I shot up. I put my coat on and headed to the corner of 231st and Arc Avenue. I waited, it was a slow night, my lipstick was drying out and the constant flickering of lights in the cross only made it that much colder. An hour later, a black van slowly crept up by the curb and window slowly came down.

“Mystic Angel”, he said

“Yeah that’s me” I said

“Come inside” he said

I went inside and the car seat was new leather, he was a new client I thought. He drove off and stopped two blocks down, stuck his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a Las Vegas Police Department badge then stuck the chains on my hands. Although my heart was in bondage, I kicked, I screamed, I begged for him to let go. His head was faced forward and he remained silent.

The precinct was fifteen minutes away and I knew this was my last chance. It was never my fault, a shadow have been casted ever since my childhood days. The cold wind would always remind me how my mother made some of her own money. She would buy the nicest underwear and bras for me to make me presentable for my job. I was around thirteen when I started. At first she would go with me, to see how well I fit in, and then she would occasionally join me for overtime pay. During week days, I would only work from 10pm-1am and on weekends; I would work till 2a.m. I would get a vacation on some holidays depending on business that month.

I struggled to open the door, but the officer came to escort me anyway. He walked behind me and pushed me forward considering my feet never wanted to leave the ground. I walked into the station as if I was crippled; I mumbled words and everyone looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I couldn’t imagine my life behind bars. With a quick move, I ran. I glided through the double doors. As I headed for the fire escape, I hit my head against the glass case and landed in front of a blurry mirror. I saw my reflection, she was much older and she just stood there. She didn’t have the same clothes I had but the face looked exactly like me. I struggled to get a better look. I tried wiping the mirror with the sleeve of my jacket but it got worse and my reflection began to fade. It was then, I knew.

They finally caught up to me and grabbed me up off the floor with the handcuffs still tightly holding me together. I turned my head slowly and the image was completely gone. A sigh of relief escaped through my lips and walk to my cell with my head down.

2nd Draft

She went to sleep that night, happy; expecting pancakes and sausages in the morning for the second time this year. Before Anna fell asleep, she said her prayers, climbed her way onto the bed and clutched her blanket tightly not allowing any cold air to enter in. Unfortunately, hours passed, and cold air was the least of her worries. She slowly turned, forced her right eyelid to open and a cold object pierced her temple and a raspy voice whispered,
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot”
“I have never been that still in my life, my brain froze but my heart kept beating. That was the only sound that made me realize that I was alive. I slept on my side that night, and that was how I laid for thirty minutes. He walked away from my bedside and began rummaging through the unpolished furniture searching like he misplaced something important.”
I hardly remember that night, it was cold and that late night shift lasted longer than usual. I remember being in the bathroom of an old auto mechanic shop on Broad Street looking into the half cracked mirror while I dabbed the last ounce of red shimmer on my used lips, took my panties off and put on my matching red strap up heels. I had one needle left and I shot up. I put my coat on and headed to the corner of 231st and Arc Avenue. I waited, it was a slow night and my lipstick was drying out. An hour later, a black van slowly crept up by the curb and window slowly came down.
“Mystic Angel”, he said

“Yeah that’s me” I said

“Come inside” he said

I went inside and the car seat was new leather, he was a new client I thought. He drove off and stopped two blocks down, stuck his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a Las Vegas Police Department badge then stuck the chains on my hands. I tried kicking my way out, I screamed and yelled, then I mention my daughter that’s home alone and he asked for the address.

First draft

I went to sleep that night, happy; expecting pancakes and sausages in the morning for the second time this year. Before I fell asleep, I said my prayers, climbed my way onto the bed and clutched my blanket tightly not allowing any cold air to enter in. Unfortunately, hours passed, and cold air was the least of my worries. I slowly turned, forced my right eyelid to open and a cold object pierced my temple and a raspy voice whispered
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot”
I have never been that still in my life, my brain froze but my heart kept beating. That was the only sound that made me realize that I was alive. I slept on my side that night, and that was how I laid for thirty minutes. He walked away from my bedside and began rummaging through the unpolished furniture.