On the Inside Looking Out May 06 '04    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Books Mildred D. Taylor - Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry: A Literature Unit From $8 Olivier Dunrea - Ollie From $7 The Bottom Line On the Inside Looking Out Writing is all I ever wanted to do. The first diary ever given to me was a gift from my brothers’ godparents back in 1975. Kindergarten was soon to start and the minute knowledge I attained on writing was what television, or my mother, instilled. The learning of these symbols was exciting as the realization came to surface that I was given access to a secret world purely recognized by individuals who could break this code I was working desperately to comprehend. As an introverted child, writing allowed a new way to express myself wherein criticism was not a factor. Writing was a proven scapegoat for realities faced at home, allowing me the gift to expel emotions upon a dependable, secretive, trusting source—myself. Writing can be enjoyable until the realization occurs that one day another person may read what is being written. A certain amount of anxiety inhibits an individual when a stranger reads personal thoughts, and cares to enter your secret world. A plethora of questions abide in your head as you watch for facial expressions as the reader embarks on, what you conclude to be, the best you have to offer. The thought of being unable to distinguish the readers’ facial expression, although not as nerve-racking, poses an even larger threat because the writer is not there to solidify any contradictory thoughts. Being misunderstood is an appalling occurrence that can be cleared up only by communication. The preeminent technique to circumvent misunderstanding in written works is to write clearly in the first place. Looking at writing I have done in the past forces me to think of ways I can make an idea clearer. For example, here is an excerpt from an entry I had written in a journal after a friend of mine had died a few years ago: Go unto your own way, where angels dwell and problems cease, where rest can now confine you. The perplexity of life, you've known and yet didn't know the value of living. How sad is the one, yourself, who had so much to offer and let it lay untamed in your mind strewed with hallucinogens to forget all you have acquired. Now no one will learn your hard-taught lessons learned. How sad it is to think of the waste of your immoral being of yesterday. When all today brings is a light of hope for the next of failures among society, that they will learn all you had; however, we shall only hope that they put that knowledge to use to save them from that deep despair that landed you where you are today. You were cremated yesterday. How ironic that the song playing in the background, as I remember you, is Stupid Girl by Garbage. Memories abound my mind of younger days when innocence was all we knew. As children recapping the production of Grease, You always had to be Olivia Newton John. You were the leader and would not accept anything less. It is a sad fact that you had such leadership ability and used it for nothing worthwhile. One could only hope to be like you, Melodee Marx. You were always the popular schoolgirl that had first pick of friends and boyfriends. You were always known as pretty and smart with such magnificent character. Oh, how the chills run down my spine with the thoughts of disgust just knowing how you chose that wrong road and fell off your pedestal. The twisted visions in my head of you abusing yourself so bad that all who worshipped you could not even bring themselves to look at your face when they saw you walking down the street. You know…the same street where you sold your body and immobilized your thinking by getting high all the time. Yeah, you know the street. The one we used to play on as children and hoped to be someone of honorable mention when we grew up. That would never be you. You will never be anything. You will just be a thought of some passing time in life when we knew of a girl that we used to call a friend of ours. Now we all hide that as a secret. Shame if anyone knew we were once best friends. I wonder if anyone even cares. The actuality of this thought is that people probably do not care, but there may be that one person somewhere in the future that will read my writing and wish they had the full meaning of what I was trying to convey. Proper punctuation and word usage plays an immense part in how the overall concept emerges from a written work. That is my main priority when I write because those requirements of writing are hardest to fulfill. Generally speaking, I believe John Trimble expresses my sentiments best in his work from Writing with Style: Conversations on the Act of Writing, where he states this of the novice writer: “He isn’t aware of his egocentrism, of course, but all the symptoms of his root problem are there: he thinks through an idea only until it is passably clear to him, since, for his purposes, it needn’t be any clearer; he dispenses with transitions because it’s enough that he knows how his ideas connect; he uses a private system—or no system—of punctuation; he doesn’t trouble to define his terms because he understands perfectly well what he means by them; he writes page after page without bothering to vary his sentence structure; he leaves off page numbers and footnotes; he paragraphs only when the mood strikes him; he ends abruptly when he decides he’s had enough; he neglects to proofread the final job because the writing is over…I call this “unconscious writing.”” I was, according to the above quotation, an unconscious writer. I am trying to be more aware of how my personal thoughts are worded when writing in my journal. I believe that learning how to write correctly is a necessity for every human being. Some may learn easier than others, but on no account should we stop trying to understand the basic rules of writing. Writing broadens our communication skills, furthermore receiving more out of life. So what does this tell us as a whole? The act of writing babble in a diary or journal can impair us from attaining status as a conscious writer. It is always best to write what is meant, and mean what is written. While spelling and punctuation are always valuable, clarity and content is the key to superlative writing. The best friend a writer can have is a good editor. Trimble, John R. Writing with Style: Conversations on the Art of Writing. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2nd edition. 2000.

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