Rough draft Writing Narative

Kevin Berridge
WRD 103
9/17/17


Literature has always been a major part in my life. I began reading the “I Can
Read” books at the young age of 4. The lowest level book was a simple feat, so my
mother decided to challenge me. By the time I was in first grade, I was reading at a
fourth-grade level. Although I enjoyed books with more pictures than words, but I was
drawn to the stories portrayed in higher level books. In fifth grade, I was reading full
mysteries, and action adventures. I was constantly in the school library, checking out
books ten at a time. I was attracted to the stories these books held, craving to learn
more. As I transitioned into middle school, I closed myself off into a world of
wonderment and joy. I remember distinctly the phrases my mother would utter to me
whenever we were out with the family, “Put the book down and join the rest of us,”
and, “Now remember, when people address you, be polite and respond instead of
reading.” I was addicted, and my drug was ink printed on paper. I read everywhere,
from outside underneath the protective shade of tall trees, to in the backseat of the car.
Towards the end of middle school, I was completely 500 page books in two days. I
absorbed every single strategy and synonym that crossed my page. It seemed as if I
never would fall out of reading, however, the sad day eventually came.

As I grew older, I became less and less interested in books, and focused most of
my attention on music. My interests shifted to lyrics and poetic writing, rather than full
stories in the form of novels. Of course, in high-school there were required books
students had to complete for the course. I breezed by To Kill a Mockingbird Freshman
year, but it wasn’t until I ran into books such as The Scarlett Letter that I began to
struggle. At first, when I heard my teacher say, “I promise you all, as soon as assign this
book, you will no longer enjoy my presence,” I refused to believe him. Literature had
never betrayed me, and I thought to myself, “How could this be?” Sure enough, by the
end of Hester Prim’s mediocre and dry adventure, I no longer liked my teacher. My
motivation dropped even lower when he decided to assign Ethan Frome. It was not until
Junior year that my love for reading, had turned into a love for writing. AP Lang had
given me the tools to create a logical, concise academic analyzation, but it was here that
I found my voice. My style of writing emerged during free writes, and certain writing
prompts. I had finally bridged the gap between reading, and writing. I was able to utilize
all of the skills and strategies I had adapted from reading, and implement them into my
academic, and creative writing. Senior year arrived, and so did the biggest
transformation to my writing. I had decided to enroll in Creative Writing and Advanced
Creative Writing for my English classes. At first, I did not take Creative Writing seriously
in the slightest. Our first subject was poetry, so naturally I discredited the art. As we
worked further with the style, I had developed a certain poetic voice, without even

knowing, but I thought, “There must be more than this.” Sure enough, I was correct. We
had moved on to writing short stories, one to two pages maximum, however my
greatest ideas for stories were created here. I had so many ideas for interesting and
complex stories of pain, confusion, and desire. I had created a small universe of ideas
and characters inside of my head, but only one stuck with me to the more advanced
class. I passed Creative Writing easily, and was prepared for the dual enrollment course
of Advanced Creative Writing. I felt cocky and frightened at the same time in
anticipation of the new, college level class. I was shocked to understand that the
majority of the class would be preparation for the final. We were given a choice of how
we wanted to present our understanding of writing, so naturally I selected a short story.
I forced myself to recall all of the intricate stories I had created in my head the previous
class. I searched and searched the depths of my mind for a feasible option for my story.
It was shortly after listening to an album, that I had selected my story. I had previously
written a short scene involving a serial killer conversing with an old friend, who happens
to be the sheriff of the town. I decided to create a story utilizing the killer as a crucial
side character. The main character of a previous story soon became a supporting
member of the story. I based my set of character in high-school, with the idea of a twist
ending in mind. I soon found myself to be immersed into their world, and each character
thrived inside of my mind. My teacher read a draft of my story, and was astounded with
my use of dialogue. She said, “This is the most fluid and cohesive dialogue I have seen

from a student in a long time.” Her comments gave me great confidence with my writing
and allowed me to create more of my story. I had the assistance of music the whole
time I wrote, so all of my passions began to converge into one hybrid of an assignment.
My fingers flew across my keyboard, creating a masterpiece in horror short fiction. My
peer editing group became a vital tool in my process, because they were able to give me
constructive criticism that allowed my story to reach its fullest potential. When I had
finally finished my eleven-point font, twenty-page short story, I had a surge of pride run
through my body. I had worked tirelessly on my story, and I had finally finished. It is my
greatest accomplishment I had ever achieved in my writing career. The only thought I
had when I saw the A etched at the top of my page was, “I can do more.”