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Maria Kiefer
Period 6
10-15-14
Me as a Writer
When I see myself as a writer I see atree. Like a seed I was planted by my determination
into the cold earth where like the stress of creating my own writing seemed dark and hopeless.
But then word by word , letter by letter, my own creation
symbols we call speech. Thoughts seemed to just of my min an onto the paper.
The doubt of my capabilities vanished. Like a seed in the earth I reached for light, for perfect
writing.
The path of light is not an easy one. It is where grammar and fluidity like wind and
scorching heat try to push you back into the earth. Look at your hOf[jJ1 flaws! So weak! No
hopeful future whatsoever! The trees would call to the Q.!ing.. But iilLkfiis w..6uLQ)take no _ .
heed. Like this...s.aQ.lio.g.. the writer in me struggled with weaknesses like lack of self confidence.
My other assignments and stresses like a storm tried to break me but I bend, not break.
Through all the rough drafts and editing I fought my way up. I rose to the sky, papers for
leaves, hope for a trunk, and past knowledge for roots. In the corrections, I grew. In practice, I
grew. Fighting to match the trees, the perfect writing. Weaving branches spiraled towards
success and final drafts I displayed with pride. ThOUgh still I had not reached the grander scale of
a full grown tree, a professional writer. It does not mean I never will. After all , every great writer
was a seed under the ground; waiting for their time to tell their story.