..and several other schools.
This is an essay I wrote for my AP English 11 class last year. It was rough in some spots, and I touched up on it. Basically, I was worried that the beginning was a little too cynical and possibly narcissistic and that it's (still?) a little too lengthy. The website says there is a 250 word minimum but no maximum. I'm not sure what the aforementioned colleges prefer in terms of length, as I couldn't find that info.
Also, I'm not sure what category to classify it under. Perhaps choice 4 or 6? 4 is 'Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.' 6 is 'Topic of your choice.'
Anyway, if you could I'd like you guys to check it out and give me any pointers, corrections, or answers you may have. Thanks.
Life is Holey
All my life I've been desperately wandering through a desert whose body has become riddled with bullet holes. The shots were clearly made at random and must have been fired mercilessly by a giant man in the sky because their widths are astounding. As I continue my travels, I frequently slip in the sand, only to find myself plummeting into these dark holes, their walls thick with stress. Just like in my experiences, the character Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights encountered pits seemingly everywhere he turned. After being left alone as a child in Liverpool, and then discovered by Mr. Earnshaw, he was directly led to another adversity. Here it arose in the form of the master's relatives' harsh treatment of him. However, Heathcliff, like me, managed to surmount the condescending clay walls and scramble a few more feet. As we always find, though, another hole looms mischievously nearby.
Of course, the most obvious series of holes lies where I focus the majority of my attention-education and theatre. Nowadays, I have a lot of material flowing through my brain: understanding concepts I'm lectured on each day; drudging through endless math worksheets; writing class material with actual substance; constructing creative projects; reading novels under time limits; memorizing lines and music; and finally, attempting to maintain an active social life at the same time! It's probably reasonable to think I'm just spouting as many complaints as I can, but execution really isn't the issue. Procrastination and the stress that it entails are really the source of all evil. The ground I stroll upon has now transformed into that lead-filled wasteland, and the holes incessantly suck me up like a mindless vacuum. Sure, anyone would assume the problem is solved when I crawl out, but the gun in the sky never ceases to reload. For me, it just feels like one thing after another. I'm studying for a test this week, and I'll be at the same task next week. Does it ever change? We'll see when graduation rolls around.
Common sense dictates that our endeavors recede in difficulty when someone close-a friend, perhaps, or a lover-is there to assist. Even if she wasn't always by Heathcliff's side, Catherine's existence plucked a heavenly chord in the music of his heart. Every problem Heathcliff faced he endured with a headstrong conscience, his mind filled to the brim with pleasant dreams of his singular love. Catherine's brother Hindley treated him like a misfit, a scoundrel, but he administered a frustrated yet calm disposition - and lifted his foot to the pit's wall. While Joseph the servant rambled endlessly of his immorality, Heathcliff clawed his mighty grip into the tough mixture of sand and clay. Before Nelly Dean's eyes, he flourished, and ascended upward toward freedom. After three years of his absence, the gypsy had reached the edge of the pit's fall-point and puffed his chest out with pride. His striking features made jaws drop like anvils as he roamed. All the while, Catherine's eyes and face and heart and soul throbbed relentlessly through Heathcliff's being. Yes, he is tremendously disappointed when she betrays him and marries Edgar Linton, but the thread of desire solemnly lingers. I've often longed for that kind of romantic connection that manages to survive even the most suffocating trenches of sorrow; I admire Heathcliff for maintaining that.
My good pal Heathcliff and I eventually reached a crossroads in the holey desert. On the left path, there appears a breathtaking, pitch-black, bottomless pit, with only a few tiny pits littered sparsely beyond. On the right, numerous medium sized holes were divvied up fairly consistently. Wishing for the best, we set foot on the left path and immediately wished we hadn't. Death itself lives in that bottomless pit, along with sorrow, grief, and utter confusion. In February 2009, my brother Jesse passed away. It was extremely unexpected, and there I was, once again: falling while crying and screaming my lungs out to be rescued from that hellish limbo in time. For what seemed like forever I searched for answers that simply could not be found. Soon I had to realize that the only way I'd soar above this confinement of no bounds would be by cherishing the good times, releasing the bad ones, and moving on to find joy in new places. Heathcliff, on the other hand, didn't handle things in such a manner. After Catherine's death, he resolved in exacting his revenge on those both guilty and innocent, creating a twisted whirlwind of deceit. For example, he forced the marriage of Catherine's daughter Cathy and his son Linton, just so that he, being Heathcliff, could inherit Thrushcross Grange. Instead of coping with his grief and effectively diminishing his demons, he became greedy and allowed them to multiply. Eventually their souls might meet again, but how could happiness ever be found after such strife?
To sum up, life is filled with holes to fall in, or the struggles we face. They come in many forms, but all we can do is try to not sweat the small stuff, and let things go; what's done is done, they always say. Heathcliff, the anti-hero of Wuthering Heights, and I share a significant connection in that we both do our best to maneuver through life's trials and challenges without paying too much thought or hesitation to any one part. Heathcliff's issue was that his once confident, surely attitude couldn't pass the test of time. I haven't yet lived as many years as he had before cracking, but hopefully I'll stray from his fate and keep my composure intact. It's inevitable that tomorrow's brilliant sunny day will bring yet another pesky obstacle, so letting today's hitch stand in the way of my ultimate succession would be absolutely useless.
This is an essay I wrote for my AP English 11 class last year. It was rough in some spots, and I touched up on it. Basically, I was worried that the beginning was a little too cynical and possibly narcissistic and that it's (still?) a little too lengthy. The website says there is a 250 word minimum but no maximum. I'm not sure what the aforementioned colleges prefer in terms of length, as I couldn't find that info.
Also, I'm not sure what category to classify it under. Perhaps choice 4 or 6? 4 is 'Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.' 6 is 'Topic of your choice.'
Anyway, if you could I'd like you guys to check it out and give me any pointers, corrections, or answers you may have. Thanks.
Life is Holey
All my life I've been desperately wandering through a desert whose body has become riddled with bullet holes. The shots were clearly made at random and must have been fired mercilessly by a giant man in the sky because their widths are astounding. As I continue my travels, I frequently slip in the sand, only to find myself plummeting into these dark holes, their walls thick with stress. Just like in my experiences, the character Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights encountered pits seemingly everywhere he turned. After being left alone as a child in Liverpool, and then discovered by Mr. Earnshaw, he was directly led to another adversity. Here it arose in the form of the master's relatives' harsh treatment of him. However, Heathcliff, like me, managed to surmount the condescending clay walls and scramble a few more feet. As we always find, though, another hole looms mischievously nearby.
Of course, the most obvious series of holes lies where I focus the majority of my attention-education and theatre. Nowadays, I have a lot of material flowing through my brain: understanding concepts I'm lectured on each day; drudging through endless math worksheets; writing class material with actual substance; constructing creative projects; reading novels under time limits; memorizing lines and music; and finally, attempting to maintain an active social life at the same time! It's probably reasonable to think I'm just spouting as many complaints as I can, but execution really isn't the issue. Procrastination and the stress that it entails are really the source of all evil. The ground I stroll upon has now transformed into that lead-filled wasteland, and the holes incessantly suck me up like a mindless vacuum. Sure, anyone would assume the problem is solved when I crawl out, but the gun in the sky never ceases to reload. For me, it just feels like one thing after another. I'm studying for a test this week, and I'll be at the same task next week. Does it ever change? We'll see when graduation rolls around.
Common sense dictates that our endeavors recede in difficulty when someone close-a friend, perhaps, or a lover-is there to assist. Even if she wasn't always by Heathcliff's side, Catherine's existence plucked a heavenly chord in the music of his heart. Every problem Heathcliff faced he endured with a headstrong conscience, his mind filled to the brim with pleasant dreams of his singular love. Catherine's brother Hindley treated him like a misfit, a scoundrel, but he administered a frustrated yet calm disposition - and lifted his foot to the pit's wall. While Joseph the servant rambled endlessly of his immorality, Heathcliff clawed his mighty grip into the tough mixture of sand and clay. Before Nelly Dean's eyes, he flourished, and ascended upward toward freedom. After three years of his absence, the gypsy had reached the edge of the pit's fall-point and puffed his chest out with pride. His striking features made jaws drop like anvils as he roamed. All the while, Catherine's eyes and face and heart and soul throbbed relentlessly through Heathcliff's being. Yes, he is tremendously disappointed when she betrays him and marries Edgar Linton, but the thread of desire solemnly lingers. I've often longed for that kind of romantic connection that manages to survive even the most suffocating trenches of sorrow; I admire Heathcliff for maintaining that.
My good pal Heathcliff and I eventually reached a crossroads in the holey desert. On the left path, there appears a breathtaking, pitch-black, bottomless pit, with only a few tiny pits littered sparsely beyond. On the right, numerous medium sized holes were divvied up fairly consistently. Wishing for the best, we set foot on the left path and immediately wished we hadn't. Death itself lives in that bottomless pit, along with sorrow, grief, and utter confusion. In February 2009, my brother Jesse passed away. It was extremely unexpected, and there I was, once again: falling while crying and screaming my lungs out to be rescued from that hellish limbo in time. For what seemed like forever I searched for answers that simply could not be found. Soon I had to realize that the only way I'd soar above this confinement of no bounds would be by cherishing the good times, releasing the bad ones, and moving on to find joy in new places. Heathcliff, on the other hand, didn't handle things in such a manner. After Catherine's death, he resolved in exacting his revenge on those both guilty and innocent, creating a twisted whirlwind of deceit. For example, he forced the marriage of Catherine's daughter Cathy and his son Linton, just so that he, being Heathcliff, could inherit Thrushcross Grange. Instead of coping with his grief and effectively diminishing his demons, he became greedy and allowed them to multiply. Eventually their souls might meet again, but how could happiness ever be found after such strife?
To sum up, life is filled with holes to fall in, or the struggles we face. They come in many forms, but all we can do is try to not sweat the small stuff, and let things go; what's done is done, they always say. Heathcliff, the anti-hero of Wuthering Heights, and I share a significant connection in that we both do our best to maneuver through life's trials and challenges without paying too much thought or hesitation to any one part. Heathcliff's issue was that his once confident, surely attitude couldn't pass the test of time. I haven't yet lived as many years as he had before cracking, but hopefully I'll stray from his fate and keep my composure intact. It's inevitable that tomorrow's brilliant sunny day will bring yet another pesky obstacle, so letting today's hitch stand in the way of my ultimate succession would be absolutely useless.