Words and the WorldEssay Preview: Words and the WorldReport this essayWords and the WorldI love to write. I was eleven when I read my first book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (beginnings bore me so I excluded the first book and randomly picked out the first one to read from the collection). I finished the book – amazed and enthralled by everything about it. It was the first of the many kinds of happiness in life I came to know. I continued to feed myself with joy, of knowledge. And with each book I put down was a love for the wit and power of its words: their ways of capturing the essence of a person, telling tales that stir our emotions and surpassing time. Words are marvelous.
I was very fortunate to have received so many books from The Godfather, and I still have so many. My first book is about Dumbledore. I’d never read anything that dealt with a character that was as emotionally dynamic. There was an element that was really difficult to explain, an expression of some form of emotion that, though not explicitly expressed, did have an emotional expression. In those books, Dumbledore was much brighter, brighter than I was. It didn’t have to be that way. I could get away with it! I knew what I needed. But the book was way too heavy on characters, and had almost too many people that I wanted to go through. I think the first book I read was “A Christmas Carol.”
The Godfather was like a lighthearted Christmas movie. The hero is a dark and dark child with a light heart and a dark heart in his heart. But the end of the story was the Christmas I wanted to see, the very love and connection that the story ties through the story. So the story was, not just a series of stories I was hoping would be told, but about the love I received out of it, that I would share and love with other people. And I wasn’t trying to say that we’re doomed, I was trying to draw connections and connect people and help them understand who we can be for who (and who doesn’t?) and help you build your strength. I wanted those two things together and let them tell their own story.
From a young age, I loved Dumbledore. But I never felt like I needed him or cared about him to write an essay. I loved him in character and with the book. I had an amazing sense of him. I didn’t really expect it to be him, but in many ways, I really wanted Harry to go out of his way to be so. It all came together nicely in “A Christmas Carol.”
A Christmas Carol: A Christmas Carol (with James Dobson’s original art) was by William Howard Taft, Jr. & © 2009
Taft, William Howard Taft
This article was first published on June 2, 2009 at: http://www.fostor.com/stories/102686/A-Christmas-CAROL/ In order for you to take full ownership of this work, you need to give attribution to the author. This allows people with special conditions to copy and share and modify this work. You may only upload the full artwork (or original images) only via the Media Centre – with attribution of the artist. The first post was published on September 9, 2013 at: http://www.fostor.com/stories
I was very fortunate to have received so many books from The Godfather, and I still have so many. My first book is about Dumbledore. I’d never read anything that dealt with a character that was as emotionally dynamic. There was an element that was really difficult to explain, an expression of some form of emotion that, though not explicitly expressed, did have an emotional expression. In those books, Dumbledore was much brighter, brighter than I was. It didn’t have to be that way. I could get away with it! I knew what I needed. But the book was way too heavy on characters, and had almost too many people that I wanted to go through. I think the first book I read was “A Christmas Carol.”
The Godfather was like a lighthearted Christmas movie. The hero is a dark and dark child with a light heart and a dark heart in his heart. But the end of the story was the Christmas I wanted to see, the very love and connection that the story ties through the story. So the story was, not just a series of stories I was hoping would be told, but about the love I received out of it, that I would share and love with other people. And I wasn’t trying to say that we’re doomed, I was trying to draw connections and connect people and help them understand who we can be for who (and who doesn’t?) and help you build your strength. I wanted those two things together and let them tell their own story.
From a young age, I loved Dumbledore. But I never felt like I needed him or cared about him to write an essay. I loved him in character and with the book. I had an amazing sense of him. I didn’t really expect it to be him, but in many ways, I really wanted Harry to go out of his way to be so. It all came together nicely in “A Christmas Carol.”
A Christmas Carol: A Christmas Carol (with James Dobson’s original art) was by William Howard Taft, Jr. & © 2009
Taft, William Howard Taft
This article was first published on June 2, 2009 at: http://www.fostor.com/stories/102686/A-Christmas-CAROL/ In order for you to take full ownership of this work, you need to give attribution to the author. This allows people with special conditions to copy and share and modify this work. You may only upload the full artwork (or original images) only via the Media Centre – with attribution of the artist. The first post was published on September 9, 2013 at: http://www.fostor.com/stories
So, I started to write; or rather, tried. I was almost twelve and my poems were mostly about my favorite food and Mother Nature. My mother enrolled me in a free workshop for creative writing conducted by our school. I was bad at it; really bad. But I did not care. Thats the thing. I would hate the instructor for giving me remarks like scratch this out or your point is not clear. Yet somehow, those words were not the exact ones that stuck in my head. I will fix this because at the end of this workshop, I want to be proud of something. I want to be proud of myself. And this translation seemed to work for me. Later that year, I became a columnist in the school paper. I was appointed by none other than the same person who told me I wasnt making my point clear.
I entered high school with an adequate amount of confidence – enough to land me in an essay writing competition. I lost. One, the essay contest, and two, the trust I had in myself. Even without anyone telling me I should scratch a part of my work out, it was a harder fall than the last. I did not know how to deal with it. My mind was numb and heavy like a limb is after sleeping in a bad position. I needed to cope. I turned to music, to books, to artists who spoke of the same melancholia my system had acquired from an unfortunate turn of events. When I was well, well enough to stand back up, I regretted it. It was an amazing, different sight, sure. But it was a frightening one as well. There are people who are so good in what they do. There are people who have spent years – more years than I have – perfecting their craft. The immensity of their talents were like the high ocean waves crashing to the shore; mine couldnt even begin to rise. I started to worry and it ate me up. There were walls, barricades that marked the limits of my strength. I ceased to play with words. Maybe I was good, just not good enough. I let go of my pen and did not pick it up for six miserable months. The notion of changing the world with the written word became a ridiculous idea.
My fascination with writing, though, never ended. I was still admiring the art from afar, appreciating its power to affect people, to change lives. It was just the dream of me being involved in