Alice falling down the hole…
While just my freshman year, I can understand now the stresses involved with finals time in college. With professors being vague at times about test, assigning work that seems pointless and overwhelming, and an overall feeling that an A is the only thing one will not be seeing at the end of the year, all I can think about is how much I want to burn every one of my school books from this past semester. Is this what I have to look forward to over the next few years. Holy hell, this sucks. That is all I can really day. I feel like Alice, falling down the hole, but this time, I wont be seeing the bottom anytime soon. Just falling and falling in a never ending trip to finally make it to the end. Soon, I will be there. Soon.
On a side note, has anyone seen my mind? I have seemed to have lost it.
One Writer’s Beginnings
This is one of my favorite little essays I have written in a while. Just an example of my work. Enjoy.
Do you remember the days when you would read a novel and would lose track of all time? The time when reading was more for self-exploration than homework assignments, being a form of entertainment rather than a time-consuming obligation in order to better one’s grade. The memories will flood back as you remember what it was like to be young, and at times, wish for present to be same. In Eudora Welty’s essay One Writer’s Beginnings, you are sent on a roller coaster of memories making you fall in love with the past once again.
While we were young and innocent, books represented a reality that was beyond our door. The countless adventures that could be had with each one of the books, be it through the Encyclopedia Britannica or the old tattered Mark Twain novels, was almost overwhelming. You were in love with the idea of losing yourself to one of these books, exploring the world through its many pages, and coming back with a desire for more. The emotions of the main characters would be shared by you, and as your read page by page, you grew closer and more familiar. You didn’t just read these stories; you would be right there in the middle of it all, an observer to another reality. You would hear everything from the babble of the creek to the birds overhead. The authors of these magnificent gateways would fill your mind with senses and feelings you had never experienced before, and you would come back with the most amazing of memories. So let this essay be your guide into the past.
This essay is a gateway to the acknowledgment of the willful ignorance of youth to believe that the fantastic and imaginary could be real. As Daniel Rosson once said, “I loved being a child because I could believe that Peter Pan could be the kid next door…and that would be badass”. It was a sad day when we all realized “that story books had been written by people, that books were not natural wonders, coming up of themselves like grass” (Welty 607). Even with this realization, we all still have that favorite book. Some may have left it at home, while others brought it with them to college. After reading this essay, those of us that have not been as lucky to have that prized book in our possession are lead to desire for just one last chance to read its torn and tattered pages.
Growing up, your senses opened up and you discovered the world through your favorite stories. Books were everywhere, with hundreds, if not thousands, of different journeys for you to take. You could walk into your parent’s study and find shelves filled with many different works of fiction, each one a gateway to a new journey in life, and wonder what it would be like just to read all of them. The world you discovered in these tales, ever changing, gave you something new to wonder about and explore at your convenience. There will still linger in everybody that little piece of their past and their childhood adventures and Eudora Welty’s essay bridges that gap and allows your childhood past and adventures to surface
