Hi can you tell me what you think of this essay for the Common App? If the prose is good? if it is well written? does it draw you in? etc...
MANY THANKS!!
Nervousness and excitement surged through my veins. I stood at the edge of the room, my shiny black shoes stood silent on the gleaming hardwood floor. At such a young age, with seemingly endless years stretched out before me like blank pages, I was unable to fathom the impact that my first days of school would have on my life. My teacher stood in the classroom and expectantly exclaimed "Are you ready to learn?"
I sat at my desk attentively watching my teacher at the chalk board. I watched in awe as very deliberate, fluid white lines appeared on the dark blackboard. I furrowed my brow and frowned as I examined my misshapen, crooked letters. They were a complete disgrace, and I was ready to give up. "The alphabet is the foundation. If you can write letters, then you can write a word. If you can write a word, you can write a sentence and if you can write a sentence then you can write an entire book! It takes practice. Remember to never stop trying" my teacher explained. With new determination and energy I took out a fresh sheet of lined paper and tried again relentlessly.
The next day, my second day of school, I confidently and eagerly entered the classroom. My black shoes gleaming as they click-clicked on the hardwood floor while I walked toward my seat. I wrote and wrote, pressing my pencil into the paper harder and harder to try to control where on the paper the letters would appear. "I will never stop trying." Once again my teacher walked through the room to assess the progress of her student. "Remember to never stop trying. Relax." So I tried again. I let my mind wander. My mind swirled with all the words I would be able to write after all my practice. How I would form those words into sentences and then weave those sentences into a story. There would be no stopping me. The rhythmic clicking of my shiny black shoes resonated in my mind and through the classroom as I left my second day of learning.
Excitement poured out of me as I embarked on my third day of school. I was so eager to once again attempt to successfully write the letters of the alphabet. Click-Click-Click-Click; the rhythm pulsed inside my mind. I brought out a clean sheet of lined paper and began to write my foundation, the click-clicking pulsing in my mind. My shiny black shoes rhythmically tapping under my desk. My teacher demonstrated over and over. Never give up trying, I repeated to myself as I attempted to mirror her precision. Over and over I practiced. My shiny black shoes clicked on the gleaming hardwood floor. "You did it!" my teacher exclaimed.
I practiced more and more, constantly reminding myself to never give up trying, despite the infuriating frustration I endured. My shiny black shoes tapping wildly against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I had mastered how to write the letters; the foundation. Then I began to build on the foundation, I began to write words. My shiny black shoes fiercely exploding as they grazed against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I was able to write a sentence. The constant, pulsing rhythm resonating through my mind. My shiny black shoes singing against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I was able to weave those sentences into a story. My shiny black shoes passionately erupting against the gleaming hardwood floor as I glided to the beat. I practiced in the kitchen with my mother as I learned how to tap dance. It was there where the ideals of diligence and perseverance were instilled in me to nurture my ambitions, were embedded in my personality. My shiny black shoes rejoicing as they created a story on the gleaming hardwood floor.
MANY THANKS!!
Nervousness and excitement surged through my veins. I stood at the edge of the room, my shiny black shoes stood silent on the gleaming hardwood floor. At such a young age, with seemingly endless years stretched out before me like blank pages, I was unable to fathom the impact that my first days of school would have on my life. My teacher stood in the classroom and expectantly exclaimed "Are you ready to learn?"
I sat at my desk attentively watching my teacher at the chalk board. I watched in awe as very deliberate, fluid white lines appeared on the dark blackboard. I furrowed my brow and frowned as I examined my misshapen, crooked letters. They were a complete disgrace, and I was ready to give up. "The alphabet is the foundation. If you can write letters, then you can write a word. If you can write a word, you can write a sentence and if you can write a sentence then you can write an entire book! It takes practice. Remember to never stop trying" my teacher explained. With new determination and energy I took out a fresh sheet of lined paper and tried again relentlessly.
The next day, my second day of school, I confidently and eagerly entered the classroom. My black shoes gleaming as they click-clicked on the hardwood floor while I walked toward my seat. I wrote and wrote, pressing my pencil into the paper harder and harder to try to control where on the paper the letters would appear. "I will never stop trying." Once again my teacher walked through the room to assess the progress of her student. "Remember to never stop trying. Relax." So I tried again. I let my mind wander. My mind swirled with all the words I would be able to write after all my practice. How I would form those words into sentences and then weave those sentences into a story. There would be no stopping me. The rhythmic clicking of my shiny black shoes resonated in my mind and through the classroom as I left my second day of learning.
Excitement poured out of me as I embarked on my third day of school. I was so eager to once again attempt to successfully write the letters of the alphabet. Click-Click-Click-Click; the rhythm pulsed inside my mind. I brought out a clean sheet of lined paper and began to write my foundation, the click-clicking pulsing in my mind. My shiny black shoes rhythmically tapping under my desk. My teacher demonstrated over and over. Never give up trying, I repeated to myself as I attempted to mirror her precision. Over and over I practiced. My shiny black shoes clicked on the gleaming hardwood floor. "You did it!" my teacher exclaimed.
I practiced more and more, constantly reminding myself to never give up trying, despite the infuriating frustration I endured. My shiny black shoes tapping wildly against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I had mastered how to write the letters; the foundation. Then I began to build on the foundation, I began to write words. My shiny black shoes fiercely exploding as they grazed against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I was able to write a sentence. The constant, pulsing rhythm resonating through my mind. My shiny black shoes singing against the gleaming hardwood floor. I practiced in the classroom with my teacher until I was able to weave those sentences into a story. My shiny black shoes passionately erupting against the gleaming hardwood floor as I glided to the beat. I practiced in the kitchen with my mother as I learned how to tap dance. It was there where the ideals of diligence and perseverance were instilled in me to nurture my ambitions, were embedded in my personality. My shiny black shoes rejoicing as they created a story on the gleaming hardwood floor.
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