Creator's Letter

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

25 April 2013

Creator’s Letter

Welcome to my IP! I hope your as glad to be here as I am!

I’m sure you will find what you are looking for here! Unless what you are looking for is anything except a collection of high school essays. Then you’re out of luck.

If you were looking for a collection of high school essays, then boy are you in for a treat! We have the finest selection of analytical essays, creative essays, personal essays, reflective essays, and professional pieces anywhere on the internet! Feel free to use that mouse of your to navigate through my blog! You could even use the keyboard if you want, there are no rules here!

Have fun exploring my blog, I hope you have as much fun as I did creating it!

Reflective Essay

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

25 April 2013

Reflective Essay

Writing an English essay is literally the worst. It is the only homework I actually have to do, and it means staying up till early in the morning (It is 1:30 right now, thanks Barnes). However, looking over and editing my essays from this year has shown me that English essays may not literally be the worst. While of course most are, there have been a few gems this year that allowed me to develop myself as both a writer and an individual. The creative pieces gave me an opportunity to work on incorporating voice into my writing, while the personal essay let me think back on everything that happened last year and realize how much it has changed me.

One thing that I have always struggled with, and still do, is developing my own voice. Throughout freshmen and sophomore year, I have wrote countless essays analyzing various aspects of different books, which I have to admit was more fun than I thought it would be. I love thinking about what the real meaning is behind books. But I could never understand how I could incorporate my voice into an analytical essay; in my mind an analytical essay should be about analyzing, not adding flowery language or ornate sentence structure. This hasn’t flow too well with my English teachers. Luckily, in English III we had the privilege of writing (at least) two creative pieces. For my IP I chose to edit both the POV shift and the Work Sketch. Both assignments were similar, yet each offered a slightly different opportunity. The word sketch allowed me to just my imagination run rampant, coming up with sentences comparing the chassis of an iPhone to a picture frame that “Leonardo Da Vinci would be proud to hang a painting within” (Word). While having no limits on my creativity was certainly a fun exercise, I preferred the challenge of shaping that creativity to fit with a preexisting storyline. In my POV shift, I took the point of view of Maurice, the elevator pimp from Catcher in the Rye. With the dialogue as the foundation, I was able to flesh out Maurice’s personalty. He turned into an oblivious jerk, as is obvious when he lets his “muscle fall out and flop over [his waistband]” before he starts to beat up a kid (POV). While both creative pieces differ slightly, they both provided me an opportunity to experiment with my creative side. I focused on expanding this creative voice in my revisions. For example, I wanted to make Maurice’s poor education more evident, so I decided that “If there’s one thing [he] can’t stand, its criminals” (POV). Which is funny because Maurice is a pimp. Regardless of how creative of a person I am, I enjoyed both the POV Shift and Word Sketch as they allowed experimentation with a side of writing I am largely unfamiliar with.

While the creative pieces were a slight break from the regular English essay, the personal essay was by far my favorite assignment of the year, most frustrating assignment of the year, and my worst essay of the year. If you only saw the essay that I turned in, it may seem as if I turned in a rough draft. That would be the truth. Yet I spent at least twice as long writing that essay than I did on any other essay this year. I wrote at least 5 rough drafts, scrapping each one because none of them could adequately describe what happened last year. I experimented with different styles to try to get the emotions across. “The more I try the faster I seem to fall, my mind desperately trying to find something positive to cling to but the more I search the more I realized there is nothing, I am alone; falling” (Personal). As you can see, my attempts at stream of consciousness made the essay hard to follow. The main problem I faced though, and what frustrated me the most, was the 500 word limit. I didn’t think that I could fit everything that happened and all of my emotions in a ten page essay, let alone a 500 word one. I didn’t think that I could narrow down my entire sophomore year into one life lesson and be satisfied with it. And I was right. Even with all the work I put in, writing and rewriting, I never could produce an adequate essay. That is why I got a C on my personal essay. That is why 95% of my revised personal essay is in bold. However, writing the essay forced me to think about how much I really have changed over the last year, and how much I really love the person I have become. “And I wouldn’t change that for the world” (Personal).

I rewrote it once again, making one last effort to try and capture a year of mistakes and perseverance in a mere 500 words. It is certainly better than my other attempts, but I still feel as though I’ve painted a poor portrait of how deeply last year affected me. I still am dissatisfied with the lesson I learned, with the portrayal of emotion and description of the events. But it is the best I could do.

English III certainly has been an adventure, from the wild parties with Gatsby to the excursions down the Mississippi River. It has also been a great personal adventure. While at first they seemed painful, the personal essay and creative pieces provided me with the opportunity to better myself both as a writer and an individual. Seeing how much I have changed over just one year, I can only imagine what the future will hold. AP English, here I come!

Personal Essay

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

5 February 2013

Personal Essay

[…]

The sun was shining. Yet it failed to heat the air whipping against my face as I walked over to my mom’s van. An overwhelming sense of suspense was swelling up inside of me, knowing that my world would either be restored, or […] destroyed beyond all hope of repair. All the miles I ran with my cross country team weren’t enough to prepare my heart for the next six words: “You can’t go back to West.” It stopped.

Flashback to a few weeks earlier. I was a fairly normal kid; slightly shy and awkward but extremely smart with a decent sized friend group. But I was extremely unconfident. My sense of self worth came mostly from what other thought about me. Doing almost anything alone would strike fear in my heart, as I was always looking to others to take the lead. I was too insecure to believe that my judgement could be better than my friends’. When one of my friends told me to stand guard while he took tests from a teacher’s computer, I naturally agreed.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know what we did was wrong. I did. I didn’t stop to think about what we were doing. I accepted my friend’s decision without thinking about what we were doing.

The next few months was the most painful time of my life. There was a meeting with a discipline committee, and it was the most nerve-wracking thing I had ever done. I had to go in front of a group of principals and explain what I did and why. They decided I was not allowed back to West, but I refused to give up, opting to appeal my case to the Board of Education. I remember going into that meeting barely being able to walk, knowing that this was my last chance. I presented my case again, this time in front of most of the Board members and the superintendent. I would be allowed back at the semester.

This wasn’t remotely close to the end though; I had three months of work to do with roughly a month to do it. I had to go to an alternate discipline center everyday to work, where I was surrounded by drug dealers and kids who tried to stab people with knives. Most of my friends had lost contact long ago. Never in my life had I felt so out of place and alone. It became obvious that I needed a friend.

I became my own best friend. If I wanted to succeed, I realized I needed to trust that I could. Having made it this far on my own, I knew I was strong enough to face whatever would come my way. I put my head down, powered through all my work, and returned to school. I faced the embarrassment from my peers and finished the second semester strong. Nothing could have given me a bigger confidence boost that looking at my report card, and realizing everything I did to do to earn it.

Walking through the halls with self-assured strides, I sometimes think about what sophomore year could have been. I think about how one stupid mistake ruined an entire year. But it was the price I paid to become who I am today. And I wouldn’t change that for the world.

Great Gatsby Timed Write

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

21 December 2012

Great Gatsby Timed Write

“Goal Setting: A Step-by-Step Guide”. Worksheets such as these can be found in almost every elementary schools nationwide, and for good reason: goals are important. Everyone has goals. From the homeless man who wants a dollar to buy a McDouble to the business executive who wants to take over a company, goals are a driving force in all our lives. Yet they are not always a driving force for good. In The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald shows how the American Dream pushed Gatsby to become rich and famous, yet ultimately led to his downfall. Through Gatsby, Fitzgerald argues that the American Dream is both a constructive and destructive force in American society.

From rags to riches, the transformation from James Gatz to the Jay Gatsby is a story many guess at but few know. One thing is certain though; it was made possible by a goal. Even as a kid, Gatsby was already dreaming of a future filled with money and mansions. When he would get home from a hard day of clam-digging or salmon-fishing, “a universe of ineffable gaudiness [would spin] itself out in his head” (Fitzgerald 99). His dream, of becoming successful, rich, and powerful is the seductive promise that America extends to all its citizens. Especially in the 1920s, when new millionaires were popping up like wildflowers, this American Dream captured the minds of many aspiring young men and woman. These men and woman [...]grew up as “shiftless and unsuccessful farm people” yet believed they could achieve greatness. And some of them did. […] The millionaires that the American Dream inspired shaped the 1920s, just as the American Dream shaped the lives of the millionaires, one of whom was named Jay Gatsby. Gatsby’s enormous wealth, his colossal house, “with a tower on one side… and a marble swimming pool, [with] more than 40 acres of lawn” are all the result of Gatsby’s belief in the American Dream (5). Without his “instinct toward his future glory” Gatsby would have wandered aimlessly through life, “as a clam-digger or salmon-fisher or … any other capacity that brought him food and bed” (98). Without goals, what is the point of life? The American Dream provided America with a goal, something to strive for because it promises happiness and success. Although not everyone could achieve it, everyone could try. For this reason, the American Dream was truly an empowering force and responsible for much of the success in the 1920s.

While it was a driving force for America, the American dream was also responsible for a great deal of unhappiness and destruction in the lives of its citizens. Because it is impossible for everyone to be successful, millions of Americans spent their whole lives trying to realize a dream that refused to become reality. The destructive wrath of the American Dream can be seen quite clearly in the dark and […] “impenetrable cloud” that surrounds the valley of ashes (23). “Halfway between West Egg and New York”, the valley of ashes contains the lives of many men and women who’s American Dream have long been crushed. They wake up every day taunted by the success of New York and West Egg, but unable to achieve it themselves. It taunts them; if the American Dream is supposed to be accessible to everyone, those who cannot achieve it must have done something wrong.  They live their lives believing the people next to them with the new car and mansion have everything they could possibly want, that they are truly happy. However, it is not only the poor ash men and women who the American Dream taunts. Even when the American Dream is realized, it does not always deliver the happiness that it promised. Jay Gatsby is the perfect example. Even with his excessively beautiful house and “beautiful shirts” that can bring a woman to tears, […] Gatsby is not happy (92). The American Dream tells people that more money, a bigger house, and a nicer car will bring more happiness. Because of this, it is in the nature of every American Dreamer to always want something more. In Gatsby’s case, his something more is the woman crying on her knees due to the extreme beauty of his shirts. For five years, Gatsby spent countless hours staring at a “green light that burns all night at the end of [Daisy’s] dock (92). His desire for Daisy almost drives him insane, and in the end is ultimately responsible for his death. However, it represents much more than just love for a woman; it represents the greed that the American Dream instills into its dreamers. […] When they finally achieve their dream they don’t realize it. People like Gatsby, whose success most men would kill for, think that what they have isn’t enough. This is the ultimate flaw of the American Dreamer.  […]  Instead of being happy with what they have, they need to have more to be happy.

The 1920s, a time full of lavish parties filled with the countless new millionaires. The American dream was the empowering force of the decade, telling everyone from clam-diggers to taxi drivers that they too can join the rich and famous in their once selective club. But while it was beneficial to America as a country by encouraging hard work, it was destroying the lives of its citizens. By constantly telling people they need more of everything to be happy, they could never have enough. The American Dream was uniquely empowering and destructive, leaving America in a sad state of fortune.

POV Shift

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

11 March 2013

POV Shift

“What’s the matter? Wuddaya want?”

“Nothin’ much. Just five bucks.” The nerve of this kid, trnya steal the dough me and Sunny rightfully earned. I looked over at the poor gal. Well mostly my dough. After all I was the one doin’ mosta the work, all she had to do was show up.

A weak little voice comes from behind dat door, all cracking and stuff like them kids nowadays. “I paid her already. I gave her five bucks. Ask her.”

“It’s ten bucks, chief. I tole you that. Ten bucks for a throw, fifteen bucks till noon. I told ya that.” I was feelin’ kinda sickly about the whole thing, doing it with a kid this young an all, but I had done younger. I was almost tempted to let him off easy, but his squeaky little voice kept convincing me otherwise.

“Why should I give her another five bucks? You’re trying to chisel me.”

Chisel him? My, whatta thing to say. Ya don’t just go round accusing people of chiseling, ‘specially when you’re only a little kid. Clearly I was gunna have to timidate the kid. Naturally I unbuttoned my shirt, letting the muscle fall out and flop over my waistband. His face got all twisted up in a sorta disgusted look, the kind kids get when they see a real man. I knew he could tell I ain’t nobody to be messin’ with. “Let’s have it chief.”

“No.”

“Chief, you’re gonna force me inna roughin‘ ya up a little but. I don’t wanna do it, but that’s the way it looks. You owe us five bucks.” I was getting mighty tired of this, a man of my statue has more important things to be dealing with. Who did this kid think he was, that he knew the price for my girl better than I did? It just ain’t right to order little Sonny all the way up here and only pay half. Just ain’t the right thing to do.

“Want me to get his wallet?” Sonny was bright for a gal, eying’ out that wallet from the all the way across the room. “It’s right on the wutchamacallit.”

I thoughta just getting the bread and saying my goodbyes and all, putting an end to the business, but that little face and squeaky voice were just beggin’ to be taught a thing or two. It was criminal of him to try to steal my money like that. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, its criminals. I ain’t proud of it or nothing, but I hit the kid right where it hurts. Probably don’t matters anyway, Sunny told me he ain’t old enough to use it. I guess this logic don’t matter to the kid, he got upset and all, callin’ me a dirty moron and some other unpleasant names an such.

Now, I just couldn’ walk away without teachin him a lesson. You can’t just say things like that to a person, it just ain’t right. Specially a kid saying that stuff to a respected man like me. I figure he needed to learn. Some might say I’m a sort of hero, teachin the kid respect an all that, but I was only trying to keep the kid from becoming one of them criminals. I almost felt bad for the kid, he surely didn’t a proper man to look up to such as myself.

Well I gave him a good ole slap to correct him and all, can’t say if it’ll help the guy but at least I did my part. He wasn’t getting up or nothing, probably contemplatin’ what I taught him, so I took my girl and we went back to the elevator.

Word Sketch

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

6 December 2012

Word Sketch

Even before the light of the Sun enters my room, I am unwilling startled into consciousness by the all too familiar sound of sirens. Shortly after rising from my slumber, the object responsible for my rude awakening is shoved into the bottom of my pocket, where it will remain for most of my waking hours. Suddenly, I feel a vibration — every so softly against my right leg — and my heartbeat quickens […]. A surge of endorphins rush through my brain as I struggle to get the slab of glass and aluminum out of its denim prison. With my hand pressed firmly against its anodized sides, my thumb brushes against against the flawless glass as it searches for the small dimple I know will bring the black slate to life. My thumb slips down onto the slightly recessed plastic circle. Suddenly, a multitude of colors bursts forth through the blackness and I see the name that was responsible for the […] vibration a few seconds earlier. My thumb […] effortlessly manipulates the vibrant light protruding from behind the wall of glass, and eventually send a message racing through the airwaves to its lucky recipient. With my mission complete, what was previously only a tool captures my full attention. The charcoal, metallic outer ring combines with the pitch black glass to form a frame that the likes of Leonardo Da Vinci would be proud to hang a painting within. However, it is merely a frame; a sideshow compared to the resplendent beauty that the display commands. The dazzling array of lights race up to meet my eyes, flooding my retina with a brilliant shower of color. I take a few moments more to soak up its elegance before I return it to my pocket, where it will rest until I can find another excuse to pull it out again.

Don't Quit

Brendan McMorrow

Mr. Barnes

+ English III

25 April 2013

Don’t Quit

Edgar A. Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh
When care is pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must, but don't you quit. 

Life is queer with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a fellow turns about
When he might have won, had he stuck it out. 

Don't give up though the pace seems slow
You may succeed with another blow. 

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man;
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down
How close he was to the golden crown. 

Success is failure turned inside out
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt
And you never can tell how close you are
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit. 

When I first heard this poem, I immediately thought of myself. There have been so many times in life that I have wanted to just quit whatever I was doing, whether it be writing an english essay or reading an english book. Or running a cross country race or basically anything that happened last year. Yet every time I have refused to let myself quit. I think the last stanza of the poem is especially relevant to me, because I have learned that no matter how bleak something may look, it too will pass.