Bebrutaly honest and critisize my writng, please :-) - TeenSpot.com

only_an_idiot · 11-07-2009, 09:26 AM

I have forever been called the girl with no sense. Since first grade when I wore green rain boots and a pink tutu to school. I had blond hair and a southern accent, no one wanted to be my friend. They would run away on the playground, or so it seemed, years later I realized they were only running to be first on the monkey bars, a game I cared little for.

Growing up where I did, in the small town, I did, was difficult. My father died when I was young, he was in a car wreck driving to work one day, he took another man with him, he believe went to Hell but I always wonder where the other man went to. I didn't care much that he died, the only memory I have of my father is a poor one,a nd one I wish I could forget. My father, we'll call him George, came home one night in January, just days before my sixth birthday, I heard his car pull up into our driveway, this was nothing unusual, I was sitting on the floor in front of our small television set watching one of my mothers old movies, he walked in, staggering, I was afraid he may fall on me, he had a bottle in his hand and the air around him tasted like smoke. My mother grabbed me to get me away from him, he told her to let me go but she refused, my mother is my defender, my shield, she always will be. He smacked her and she feel, I ran up to my room, crawled under my bed and silently cried. I guess according to my mother he was a good man, though I didn't believe her, never have, not after that day.

My mother has always been afraid of losing me, when i was seven she tried to keep me home from school, the police had to intervene.... I was never fond of policemen not after my father died, I was always afraid they were coming to tell me someone else left my world, leaving it changed forever. My mother took me to work on the few days she actualy went, usualy we went to the park and just sat for hours watching old couples hold hands, and young couples laugh. On other days, when it was miserable outside we went window shopping, held hands and ate ice cream. Then the police came.

When I really began attending school regularly, the teachers all thought I must be stupid, uneducated, retarded even, but I wasn't. My mother was an english major in college, she loved reading and reading to me, I was often given grammar lessens, I knew the nine parts of speech before first grade, and could name poets that I wouldn't be taught in school until junior year of high school, I still had few friends and usually sat alone at lunch, usually reading a book as I ate. Come second grade I was well adjusted to school life, every morning I would wake up. Get dressed. Make myself some toast then wake my mother up. She then left for work, or so I thought, and I left for school.

At school I would go to class and talk to my teacher, Ms. Cole, She was alot better than my first grade teacher and actually seemed to have some insight into my second grade psyche. We would talk all morning about our feelings, whats going on in our lives, years later she'll tell me that I encouraged her to go back to school and get her masters in Child Psychology, she'll tell me that during the time of furthering her education she'll realize that the way I spoke and the way I expressed myself should have been frightening to her. She should have seen past the smile stapled to my face, a smile many people including myself will believe is real for years to come.

paramore247 · 11-07-2009, 06:14 PM

only_an_idiot · 11-07-2009, 06:35 PM

Is wow good??

xxFaithxxFatalityxx · 11-07-2009, 06:52 PM

wow and its really good

ShakeDogShake · 11-07-2009, 06:57 PM

:S i thought it was very good. But it's a lot not alot.

only_an_idiot · 11-07-2009, 07:09 PM

thanks, ill change that (a lot) :-) yay, i didn't think it was very good, any criticism???

canningt · 11-08-2009, 11:38 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by only_an_idiot

I have forever been called the girl with no sense. Since first grade when I wore green rain boots and a pink tutu to school. I had blond hair and a southern accent, no one wanted to be my friend. They would run away on the playground, or so it seemed, years later I realized they were only running to be first on the monkey bars, a game I cared little for.

Growing up where I did, in the small town, I did, was difficult. My father died when I was young, he was in a car wreck driving to work one day, he took another man with him, he believe went to Hell but I always wonder where the other man went to. I didn't care much that he died, the only memory I have of my father is a poor one,a nd one I wish I could forget. My father, we'll call him George, came home one night in January, just days before my sixth birthday, I heard his car pull up into our driveway, this was nothing unusual, I was sitting on the floor in front of our small television set watching one of my mothers old movies, he walked in, staggering, I was afraid he may fall on me, he had a bottle in his hand and the air around him tasted like smoke. My mother grabbed me to get me away from him, he told her to let me go but she refused, my mother is my defender, my shield, she always will be. He smacked her and she feel, I ran up to my room, crawled under my bed and silently cried. I guess according to my mother he was a good man, though I didn't believe her, never have, not after that day.

My mother has always been afraid of losing me, when i was seven she tried to keep me home from school, the police had to intervene.... I was never fond of policemen not after my father died, I was always afraid they were coming to tell me someone else left my world, leaving it changed forever. My mother took me to work on the few days she actualy went, usualy we went to the park and just sat for hours watching old couples hold hands, and young couples laugh. On other days, when it was miserable outside we went window shopping, held hands and ate ice cream. Then the police came.

When I really began attending school regularly, the teachers all thought I must be stupid, uneducated, retarded even, but I wasn't. My mother was an english major in college, she loved reading and reading to me, I was often given grammar lessens, I knew the nine parts of speech before first grade, and could name poets that I wouldn't be taught in school until junior year of high school, I still had few friends and usually sat alone at lunch, usually reading a book as I ate. Come second grade I was well adjusted to school life, every morning I would wake up. Get dressed. Make myself some toast then wake my mother up. She then left for work, or so I thought, and I left for school.

At school I would go to class and talk to my teacher, Ms. Cole, She was alot better than my first grade teacher and actually seemed to have some insight into my second grade psyche. We would talk all morning about our feelings, whats going on in our lives, years later she'll tell me that I encouraged her to go back to school and get her masters in Child Psychology, she'll tell me that during the time of furthering her education she'll realize that the way I spoke and the way I expressed myself should have been frightening to her. She should have seen past the smile stapled to my face, a smile many people including myself will believe is real for years to come.

I think that this ii a very good piece of writing. "english" needs a capital. You have spelt actually and usually wrong. Also you have put a space between and like so: a nd. But it was a very good piece of writing. Finally i would make sure not to over punctuate with the commas.

Well done though