To be honest, I really just want feedback on whether my essay fulfills the requirements of the College Essay Topic B on Apply Texas. Obviously, I'm willing to accept any and all feedback of course, from grammatical issues to other more esoteric ones, whatever the comments are. Anyway, said Topic is thus:
Most students have an identity, an interest, or a talent that defines them in an essential way. Tell us about yourself.
Now, I feel like my essay does, partially at the very least answer said prompt, still, there exist the whispers in the back of my mind, that the words I've written in no way, shape or form fulfill the requirement. It probably doesn't, my inner pessimist is likely right, unfortunately, it always seems to be.
Alright, moving on... below is my essay.
Once upon a time, I was a kid - well, I'm still a kid, at heart, if not physically and biologically counting as one. Once upon a time, I was impulsive, uncaring, inattentive. It characterized much of my school years. It came to characterize my writing. I'd write something, and half-way through, quit. I'd write with no care given to the words used. It wasn't uncommon to see words I didn't even know the definitions of side by side with the incorrect homophones of other words. In the same way, I wrote, I lived. I'd make impulsive decisions, I'd be lackadaisical about carrying through on promises, and if something went wrong, I said "Oh," and moved on, not caring about what I'd just done. Such was my life.
Seasons changed, years switched, and the world changed. So did I. Where my writing style had been characterized, by the lack of... well, everything, especially actual effort, this was no longer true. It was now, methodical. Every word laid was building a foundation, every word was examined. Its meaning looked into. And the way it would shape stories predicted. If I didn't like it, the word disappeared faster than anyone the CIA could get rid of. Every sentence would be poked and prodded until I was satisfied it worked. And, if the story didn't work, it was to be tossed and a new one started. Much, in that same way, I approached my life decisions. I became slow, methodical, and patient. Every word, every choice, everything was to be a masterpiece. I'd spend hours crafting a one-page report, days on simple essays, and was capable of spending half-hours on paragraphs. Everything had to be perfect. My expectation for my writing was that it could only be perfect, or it was ultimately trash; I also applied that to my life and actions. I chased perfection; over hills, through woods, into rivers, across oceans, through the skies, and all over mountainsides. Such was my life, chasing an impossible dream.
As years have gone by, friends have passed on and new ones made, schools have changed, and the world has become a much different place, so, too, have I changed. My personality has somewhat divorced itself from my writing style. No longer do I desire perfection in my every action. Yet, I still pursue that impossible idea, unwilling to give up, to let go. For when I write, I hope to create the universes, the realities stuck in my mind, to give them some form of record. To put into words the images my brain creates, to make the stories I've designed, real. It can be and has been frustrating, for I've never written anything that is perfect. Despite all this time spent carefully picking my words, and crafting the sentences, the ideal I've gone after eludes me yet. Still, I return to the pen and paper, to the computer, unwilling to quit, knowing if I did, the world's I've created would never see the light of day, that I'd never write the stories I know I want to write.
Most students have an identity, an interest, or a talent that defines them in an essential way. Tell us about yourself.
Now, I feel like my essay does, partially at the very least answer said prompt, still, there exist the whispers in the back of my mind, that the words I've written in no way, shape or form fulfill the requirement. It probably doesn't, my inner pessimist is likely right, unfortunately, it always seems to be.
Alright, moving on... below is my essay.
My transformation over time
Once upon a time, I was a kid - well, I'm still a kid, at heart, if not physically and biologically counting as one. Once upon a time, I was impulsive, uncaring, inattentive. It characterized much of my school years. It came to characterize my writing. I'd write something, and half-way through, quit. I'd write with no care given to the words used. It wasn't uncommon to see words I didn't even know the definitions of side by side with the incorrect homophones of other words. In the same way, I wrote, I lived. I'd make impulsive decisions, I'd be lackadaisical about carrying through on promises, and if something went wrong, I said "Oh," and moved on, not caring about what I'd just done. Such was my life.
Seasons changed, years switched, and the world changed. So did I. Where my writing style had been characterized, by the lack of... well, everything, especially actual effort, this was no longer true. It was now, methodical. Every word laid was building a foundation, every word was examined. Its meaning looked into. And the way it would shape stories predicted. If I didn't like it, the word disappeared faster than anyone the CIA could get rid of. Every sentence would be poked and prodded until I was satisfied it worked. And, if the story didn't work, it was to be tossed and a new one started. Much, in that same way, I approached my life decisions. I became slow, methodical, and patient. Every word, every choice, everything was to be a masterpiece. I'd spend hours crafting a one-page report, days on simple essays, and was capable of spending half-hours on paragraphs. Everything had to be perfect. My expectation for my writing was that it could only be perfect, or it was ultimately trash; I also applied that to my life and actions. I chased perfection; over hills, through woods, into rivers, across oceans, through the skies, and all over mountainsides. Such was my life, chasing an impossible dream.
As years have gone by, friends have passed on and new ones made, schools have changed, and the world has become a much different place, so, too, have I changed. My personality has somewhat divorced itself from my writing style. No longer do I desire perfection in my every action. Yet, I still pursue that impossible idea, unwilling to give up, to let go. For when I write, I hope to create the universes, the realities stuck in my mind, to give them some form of record. To put into words the images my brain creates, to make the stories I've designed, real. It can be and has been frustrating, for I've never written anything that is perfect. Despite all this time spent carefully picking my words, and crafting the sentences, the ideal I've gone after eludes me yet. Still, I return to the pen and paper, to the computer, unwilling to quit, knowing if I did, the world's I've created would never see the light of day, that I'd never write the stories I know I want to write.
Do You Need