This is sort of rough, it's gone through a bit of editing but nothing major.
Please critique as harshly as you can
Does it flow?
Do i need more specific examples?
what can i add to make it more interesting?
spelling/grammar?
do you like it?
is it memorable or just another essay?
Do i sound like im bragging? (i do not mean to)
Here it goes:
In the first drawer of my ancient, wooden desk is a mélange of old notebooks, brochures, folders, Pokemon cards and sketchbooks. In fact, it looks so much like the stereotypic teenage workspace that no one realizes that within all of that paper and plastic lies the quintessence of my existence: a notebook. Two hundred college ruled sheets of paper are sandwiched between red, glittery cellophane covered cardboard and black plastic-like material. A metal spiral binds it all together.
Although I've never been afraid of extrinsic changes (I hate routine), the possibility of my own preferences, interests and mindsets changing scares the pants off me. So I decided to keep track, periodically recording my thoughts, feelings and ideas. This way, I was able to "backup" my brain to a hard drive (my notebook).
At first I treated it like a diary, writing every day about my usual activities- school, fencing, homework, school. Eventually I got tired of that and stopped writing for a while. Then one day I found myself incredibly distressed and lacking an emotion outlet. That's when I remembered my notebook. Its enticing crimson cover almost seemed to call out to me from within my desk. As I began writing, relief immediately filled my head. I felt as if I was leaving my problems behind with every transcribed word. I was surprised at how naturally and readily writing came to me. I realized I could step back and look at my actions and decisions from an analytical viewpoint just as if I was impartially reading what I had wrote in my notebook a few days later.
Inspiration effortlessly flowed into me after that. Whenever I had a particularly eventful day or an interesting dream or plainly felt like ranting, I knew who to turn to, who would eagerly listen to what I had to say all the while alleviating and sorting out the jumbled mess that racketed my brain. The organization I used in my notebook imprinted itself onto my methods of thinking. Brain maps no longer had to be made on paper; I could imagine the outcomes of situations and steps that needed to be taken to achieve them while simultaneously plotting cost vs. benefit on a graph.
As time went on, I started forming connections and mentally categorizing every new concept and conclusion I reached. Recognizing patterns and trends became almost a second-nature to me. With the help of my notebook, my intrapersonal intelligence went from zero to having the ability to explain the psychological aspects and motivations behind almost everything I did. Whoever said that overanalyzation is bad?
And it wasn't solely for reflection. I took my notebook on explorations of mythical places and relayed my encounters with supernatural hit men and guiding spirits as well as journeys to the uninhabited realms of horror movie monsters and medieval pirates. It accompanied me on motorcycle races and memorized Latin conjugations as I did. It proudly rejoiced as I relayed the details of the latest fencing victory and silently sympathized with my family and social dramas. The notebook was a permanent and trustworthy companion in my life.
My notebook is more than just an inanimate collection of lined paper, no, it is a reflection of me- pieces of my life in written form.
Please critique as harshly as you can
Does it flow?
Do i need more specific examples?
what can i add to make it more interesting?
spelling/grammar?
do you like it?
is it memorable or just another essay?
Do i sound like im bragging? (i do not mean to)
Here it goes:
In the first drawer of my ancient, wooden desk is a mélange of old notebooks, brochures, folders, Pokemon cards and sketchbooks. In fact, it looks so much like the stereotypic teenage workspace that no one realizes that within all of that paper and plastic lies the quintessence of my existence: a notebook. Two hundred college ruled sheets of paper are sandwiched between red, glittery cellophane covered cardboard and black plastic-like material. A metal spiral binds it all together.
Although I've never been afraid of extrinsic changes (I hate routine), the possibility of my own preferences, interests and mindsets changing scares the pants off me. So I decided to keep track, periodically recording my thoughts, feelings and ideas. This way, I was able to "backup" my brain to a hard drive (my notebook).
At first I treated it like a diary, writing every day about my usual activities- school, fencing, homework, school. Eventually I got tired of that and stopped writing for a while. Then one day I found myself incredibly distressed and lacking an emotion outlet. That's when I remembered my notebook. Its enticing crimson cover almost seemed to call out to me from within my desk. As I began writing, relief immediately filled my head. I felt as if I was leaving my problems behind with every transcribed word. I was surprised at how naturally and readily writing came to me. I realized I could step back and look at my actions and decisions from an analytical viewpoint just as if I was impartially reading what I had wrote in my notebook a few days later.
Inspiration effortlessly flowed into me after that. Whenever I had a particularly eventful day or an interesting dream or plainly felt like ranting, I knew who to turn to, who would eagerly listen to what I had to say all the while alleviating and sorting out the jumbled mess that racketed my brain. The organization I used in my notebook imprinted itself onto my methods of thinking. Brain maps no longer had to be made on paper; I could imagine the outcomes of situations and steps that needed to be taken to achieve them while simultaneously plotting cost vs. benefit on a graph.
As time went on, I started forming connections and mentally categorizing every new concept and conclusion I reached. Recognizing patterns and trends became almost a second-nature to me. With the help of my notebook, my intrapersonal intelligence went from zero to having the ability to explain the psychological aspects and motivations behind almost everything I did. Whoever said that overanalyzation is bad?
And it wasn't solely for reflection. I took my notebook on explorations of mythical places and relayed my encounters with supernatural hit men and guiding spirits as well as journeys to the uninhabited realms of horror movie monsters and medieval pirates. It accompanied me on motorcycle races and memorized Latin conjugations as I did. It proudly rejoiced as I relayed the details of the latest fencing victory and silently sympathized with my family and social dramas. The notebook was a permanent and trustworthy companion in my life.
My notebook is more than just an inanimate collection of lined paper, no, it is a reflection of me- pieces of my life in written form.
