Personal Writing

Personal Writing

to entertain to reflect audience The purpose of your writing isto give an effective and entertaining account of an incident or event for an ANTHOLOGY of memories to be published by your class.

You will be expected to describe the incident in detail describe and explore your feelings and reactions reflect on the experience

Viewpoints can differ about the same event They were hilarious and entrancing. I loved them. I roared and I hooted and I guffawed and shrieked.

Other people can see the same event differently All the usual tricks. I’d seen it all before. It was the most tedious routine I had ever seen.

Our feelings can beexplicit in our writing when we tell just what we feel . . . . . . . I loved them.

Or our feelings can beimplicitwhenwe suggest how we are feeling “I was firmly rooted to the spot. My legs wouldn’t move.”

Writers describe actions and thoughts and their reactions to show their feelings. My dad reckoned that anyone who grew his hair longer than him was a cissy. One Friday he looked at me, rolled his eyes and snapped at me. “You’re not playing football for your school tomorrow looking like that. Get down the road and have that hair cut. And you needn’t come back if you don’t!” At that moment I hated him. It seemed all he ever did was try to spoil my fun . . . . . . . . .

Use the senses to describe an experience. The grass towered above and all around me, each blade tattooed with sunlight. It was knife-edged, dark and a wicked green, thick as a forest and alive with grasshoppers . . . . . . . .

High overhead ran frenzied larks, screaming , as though the sky were tearing apart. I was lost and did not expect to be found again. I put back my head and howled.

Most writers when writing a personal or autobiographical item will reflect on their experiences. This allow the writer to look back and say or show what he or she learned from the experience. With every day I lived memories of that previous life melted away. However, images of my past always remained – I never forgotwho I was and where my roots truly were.

When evening came we returned to the kitchen, back to its comfort, in from the rapidly air to its warmth and cooking. Indoors our mother was cooking pancakes, her face from the fire. There was the of sharp lemon and salty batter, and a burningof oil. The kitchen was with smoky cooling smell aglow hiss dark shadows, no lights had yet been lit. cooling aglow hiss smell dark smoky

leapt, subsided, corners woke and died, fires shone in the gleam of the candlesticks. We lit the candles, and the wicks in the moving air. Next we lit the tall iron lamp and placed it on the table. The flame in the lamp sprang alive and grew more throwing pools of light on the ceiling. But even the light failed to penetrate the gloomy of the vast kitchen. Flames spluttered radiant shadows shadows Flames spluttered radiant

Change the MoodThen I saw the chimney catch fire. A fountain of sparks shot high in the night, falling and dancing along the road. The chimney hissed like a firework and great rockets of flame came gushing out. The moss-tiles smouldered with soot, giving off an earthy, peaty smell. I watched in the rain, entranced by the sight.

Then I saw the chimney catch fire. A shot high in the night, along the road. The chimney fearsome wall of flame rushing and roaring exploded like a mortar and great came lava-like eruptions spewing out. The moss-tiles with soot, giving off . I watched in the rain, by the sight. scorched and seared acrid, choking fumes appalled

And that I’m afraid was that. All those years of friendship ended just like that. I haven’tspoken to Marcia since then and deep down I will always regret not giving her the chance to tell her side of the story. But I also know that even if we did get back together it could never be the same as before.

And so December 1981 changed my life dramatically. If I hadn’t had that horrific accident, I might never have had the courage to follow my desires, never had the perseverance to continue when everyone advised me against it, and never known the true happiness of achieving an impossible dream.

Years later when I heard that old Granny McEwan had died I looked back on the prank and felt sorry that I had taken so much pleasure in annoying a poor old lady. But , of course, I was older then and realised the torture she must have gone through from boys like me who thought only of their own fun and showing off to others.

As they carried her coffin from the dank tenement, I shed a silent tear and said a silent prayer asking her to forgive me.

It was not until much later that I realised how cruel I had been . . . . . .

I remember well my first disco and the disappointment and despair.

That night was one of the worst I had ever known and I hope I ever will

What I remember most about the occasion was the blistering hot sun and the dry humid wind, but I was only five years old at the time. . . . . .

I will always see his sad face and the tears in his eyes as he turned away

Personal Writing