I have to write a narrative paper for college. Could you please give me some feedback on the essay as a whole. Plus, here are somethings to think about when you read it.
*Do you feel as if your on the outside looking it?
*Does it feel like the narrative starts at the beginning?
*Do you lose sight of the importance or meaning of the event?
Thank you for your time!
Randy
IT ALL STARTED WHEN SOMEONE SAID "PIZZA"
It was Saturday morning and we were standing around the kitchen table. The idea of making pizza was now on the forefront of our minds, so I moved swiftly over to the nearby bookshelf, grabbed a notepad, pencil and returned to the table and took a seat. Rachel, my younger sister, was now strolling about the kitchen. She is the master chef of the house and was giving her opinion, about the ingredients we should buy. My older brother Ryan stood peering over my shoulder, as I set about writing down the ingredients. "Pastry flour is what I use in my pizza dough," Rachel said, so I added it to the list. The list was finally finished and I handed it to Ryan, and he said with confidence, "I will return home as quickly as possible."
While he was gone, I walked slowly to the backyard where the brick oven is located. Kneeling down I inspected the firebricks and the clay dome, I determined that it was time to light a fire inside the oven and prepare it for the baking. However, I needed to collect sticks for the fire. Scouting around I returned with a few birches, which I broke into small pieces, and placed in a pile on top the bricks. SWOOCH, I ignited a match, placing it under the pile of sticks, they began burning. Moments later I was scouring around again looking for more twigs. After placing them on the fire, it began roaring with flames. By now I had to keep an arms lengths distance from the fire, because of the heat.
In the distance I could hear the soft humming of a motor, the sound grew increasingly louder, until I finally spotted Ryan's car turning into the driveway, he was returning home with the ingredients. Immediately we all congregated back to the kitchen to see what Ryan had bought. It was not long until Rachel had noticed that he had bought the wrong flour, he had bought pasta flour instead of pastry flour. By this time Ryan had already left the kitchen and had processed to the garage to start fabricating a new door for the oven. Rachel and I stood in the kitchen, our heads hanging low, the excitement drained from our faces. "How could we possible make pizza dough with pasta flour?" I asked. Rachel just stood there, for she was deep in thought. After a few minutes of silence, she said, "Use the flour, we are out of time." I quickly reached for the mixing bowl, as Rachel drifted off into the family room leaving me the task of making pizza dough with pasta flour. As I hurried about the room, measuring out the flour, salt, yeast and water, I was being careful not to leave out any of the ingredients. At last, the dough was finished and ready to start rising.
As time passed by, I observed that the dough was not rising. "What do I do?" I asked Rachel. "I thought that it might not rise," she said in a low careless voice, "Give it some extra time." I was out of time, the sun was setting, and everyone's stomachs were starting to make strange grumbling noises. Above all, everyone was excited and expecting to eat pizza tonight. I left the kitchen and went to the garage, Ryan was still building the door but I had to tell him the horrible news. "The dough did not rise," I said quickly. He nodded his head but said nothing, so I turned around and walked back towards the house. Nearing the kitchen I noticed a loud noise, someone must be in there, I thought. To my surprise I found Rachel next to the mixer making another batch of pizza dough. More dough? I asked in a confused voice. "Yes, but with whole-wheat flour," she said.
Finally it was time to cook the pizzas. My dough still had not risen; Rachel's dough had doubled in size and had outstanding elasticity. At last the excitement had returned, and the cooking was about to commence. "Baking time!" I called out. Ross and Rebekah both younger siblings came running, anxious to help. They began carrying the dough, topping and cooking tools to the oven, while I began poking the coals with a wooden stick. "Ross, bring me the wheelbarrow please," I said. He quickly grabbed it and wheeled it over, as I began removing the hot coals from the oven floor and placing them gently into the wheelbarrow. Like greased lighting Ross wheeled it over to the burn pit and dumped it, and then returned. In the back of the oven I left a few remaining coals for extra heat, then I placed the door, which Ryan had finished, on the oven to let the bricks begin soaking the heat into them. "Let us start making pizzas," I said as I tore off a piece of the dough, pulling and stretching it into a round thin pizza. The oven had now soaked for almost ten minutes; my pizza was on the peel, which is a tool for placing food into the brick oven, and I was ready to start cooking. The heat was very intense and I could feel it on my hands as I placed the pizza on the bricks. "I am cooking two at a time," I said, "so keep making them." As I glanced back into the oven I noticed the crust was golden, the cheese had melted and I paused as the smell of fresh hot pizza passed by my noise. Ryan, interrupting the moment said, "Here is another pizza." "I have one almost done too," Rebekah said with excitement. Placing another pizza on the bricks I pulled the first one out. There was a beautiful all cheese pizza. We kept the pace going and before long had finished with fifteen brick oven pizzas. "Dinnertime," I said, with a sigh of relief in my voice.
