Evaluative Summary

Well here it is, my final blog. That is, at least, for this semester. I have been amazed at how much I actually have come to like it. I kind of wish I had started earlier in the semester, but as usual, I waited until the last minute to finish it up.
In this blog my audience has been people who don't necessarily or didn't understand the importance of writing and how it can be used as a tool. To begin with, that was me. I knew we had to write a lot in school and life, but I didn't really have an appreciation for it until this blog.
With the title Finding My Written Voice I have tried to capture this idea of me beginning to understand and refine my writing. Several of my blog posts have been pointed in this direction such as "Too Much Writing," "Writing...Such an Amazing Tool" and "Taking Time to Write." This class and this blog have helped me do just that, refine my writing.
The idea behind my background and layout of the blog is that everyone has a busy life. We all have so much to do but taking time to read and write are important in helping us continually learn and improve. The most surpirsing thing to me about this blog is that I just might continue using it. Dare I say it, I may have become a blogger.

Entitlement -- Ruining Our Nation and Others?

Something I have been thinking a lot about lately is the growing sense of entitlement in our country and the world. I feel like there are many people who think that they are entitled to just about everything. What should we be entitled to? Or are we entitled to anything just by entering this world?
What's crazy to me is the fact that there are riots going on in many nations and what is the main thing they are protesting? They are protesting cuts to their entitlement programs. These things have proved to pretty much be the downfall of nations. They are just not sustainable. The only thing that we are entitled to is what we get out there and work for. Quit protesting and find other ways to make money rather than just whine about not getting enough. It's a hard thing for sure. I mean there are many people and families who are used to what they have been receiving for years so obviously they wouldn't want that to change. But many nations are reaching the point where this sense of entitlement is catching.
Another thing I find interesting is people complaining about the "me generation." The real problem is that it is across generations. It isn't just the stupid young people who think they should get everything. Others believe they are entitled to more than usual as well.
Anyway check this guy out below. He happens to be from Provo and has earned himself the title, "the number one idiot of OWS."

Taking Time to Write

If there is one thing that seems to be true about life, it's that it is always busy. We always tend to say that things will be better once I finish this or that but the true is that there's always something more. Sometimes we tend to lose track of what life is really about and enjoy the small things. 

One thing that has helped me balance my life is writing. I know. I hate to say because I usually say that writing is not really my thing, but I guess it has become my thing, or at least one of them. Writing helps me be able to clearly conceptualize my thoughts and feelings. When you put it on paper (or computer) it helps this. We often think we know a lot about this or that but we find out how much we really know when we write about it. 

We should employ the tool of writing more often and learn how to clearly present our thoughts. This blog has helped me be able to that. 

Already That Time Again

I can't believe that it's already that time of the semester again. Finals are just around the corner.  It seems to amaze me every single semester but Fall semesters go even faster because the holidays seem to push everything along even faster.
This semester my classes have been pretty time intensive but my finals schedule is actually pretty light, comparatively speaking. In the music program last year I had so many classes and each one had a final. The hardest of all was getting ready for juries which are basically a playing test/final for your lessons. It took so much time to prepare for them, hours and hours of practicing.

Writing... Such an Amazing Tool!

Thinking back about this semester I remember one of the very first things we read in our Writing and Rhetoric was the author's story of his experience in college. He was given an assignment where they were given a dime. They had to write about that dime and explain everything about it so well that the reader could pick it out of group of dimes. What he learned is what I have learned this semester, "we write to communicate with others" (McInelly 2).
This is so important to remember even though it seems like such a simple concept. I think we often forget that we are trying to help our reader learn from what we are writing. We aren't just writing to get our ideas down on paper and hope someone else can understand them in the event that they read it. Everything we write, well at least most things we write should be written to help others learn and understand our ideas. Our job is to help them understand not just hope they can decipher what we were thinking.
I am actually learning to love writing, believe it or not.

Grandpa's Stories

So this past summer I had the opportunity of helping my grandpa record some of his most memorable stories. He served on the Sunday School General Board so he has some really amazing stories of times spent with general authorities and Apostles. Part of what makes them so great is the fact that my grandpa is a great story teller. So I just had him record the stories and then I would transcribe them and make edits and stuff. They turned out pretty good because when he speaks he has a pretty good use of rhetoric. The only problem was that I didn't really know how to edit them and present them in the best way possible. That is where the personal narrative came in.
Writing the personal narrative and learning about them in class helped me a lot. It makes me want to go back and edit them and add detail, description, and dialogue. I can't wait to see the finished product. Before I know others have been pretty excited to be able to read them but I think if we are able to go back and edit them then even more will want to read them.
Hmm... Maybe this could be incorporated into my final project?

Where is the Snow?

I feel like it has been quite a few years since we have had to wait this long for a good snow. I guess it's good for the fact that we haven't had a whole lot of wrecks (mainly from california drivers...). Hopefully that's not too offensive but come on. Hasn't anyone else seen that?
Anyway I love nothing more than getting all suited up in my snowboarding gear and messing around in the snow. I think I like it so much because it seems like I should be really cold but I'm not at all as long as I'm prepared. You are invincible and the snow just doesn't stand a chance. When you forget your gloves or something like them then it can definitely make you miserable. So I guess the moral of the story is, if you are prepared ye shall not fear.

Final Personal Narrative--The Front Door

Here's my final draft of the personal narrative. I changed the title, description of my mom and the scene, and the ending. Let me know what you think. 

The Front Door

There I sat in the corner of the room, crying. I knew it. My life was over.

“She told me not to. She told me not to,” I repeated over and over in my little 10-year-old mind believing that this would somehow make everything better. I had always known that my mom was always right but this time I really knew it.

Only hours before, I was sitting at the granite kitchen countertop eating my lunch as mom rushed by me and out the door leading into the garage. I was sure she had some very important motherly business to attend to. She was always carrying her big purse filled with who knows what and that day her hair was just a bit frazzled from her already very busy morning. As I heard the van start up in the garage I got up and walked a few steps past the fridge to the sink to refill my cup.

I am free, I thought as I looked at the door and then around at the kitchen connected to the dining room. That was, until she came rushing back in.

“Steven, make sure you don’t go outside while I’m gone,” she said with a concerned look that only a mother could pull off. There was something about the way Mom looked at me with her big blue eyes.

“Why?” I asked, as does every normal little kid. I didn’t say anything more but in my mind that really seemed like a ridiculous request. It was so nice outside.

“I don’t know why.  Just make sure you don’t go outside,” she replied this time with a little more earnestness.

“But Mom why?” I said, pressing the issue a little more. “I won’t leave the yard.”

“Steven I honestly don’t know why but I just have a feeling something will happen if you leave the house and go outside. Maybe it has to do with one of the neighbors…” she said, her words trailing off as she glanced outside.

This time I knew she meant it. There was something in her voice that last time that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I started to have a feeling, too. “I won’t go outside Mom. I promise.” I mean, after all, I didn’t want something bad to happen to me while she was gone. I had a life to live.

“I trust you,” she said as she kissed me on the head and rushed out the door.

I was free again but not quite as much as I was before because now I was stuck inside. So I watched TV for a little while and then went up to my room to play with a couple new toys I had just gotten. One of them was a brand new slingshot. This wasn’t just any slingshot. It was one my uncle had helped me make, out of a branch I found.  

I walked around the house, my mind preoccupied with things I was pretending to shoot when all of a sudden there he was. I could see him just outside the window on the side of our house.

I ran to the back door, opened it, and made my way to the side of the house, not forgetting to pick up a few perfectly shaped rocks on the way. As I rounded the corner there he was, in the exact place I had seen him just moments ago. A real live red robin. It was almost as if he was waiting for me, daring me to try out my new slingshot. So I grabbed my first pebble and aimed. This was my first shot of the day.

Zhoom, it went, flying way over him landing somewhere in the grass a ways off.  He was gone. That was my one and only chance and now it was gone in the blink of eye. So I wandered around the outside of the house for a few minutes looking for any other things I could shoot when, I saw him again. This time he was on the porch at the top of the few stairs that led into the house. I was given a second chance so I had to make it count. I had to get him this time. So I pulled out my last little rock. It was an especially good one, nice and round, perfect for accuracy. I loaded it. Pulled back. And released…

Zhoom… Crash!

The sound of shattering glass filled the air and what I saw was even worse. It was my front door. This wasn’t just your regular door with a small window. Almost the full thing was glass, beautifully etched glass. Not even all the money I had could begin to pay for that door. So I resorted to my next best option.

I cried. The truth is that my little 10-year-old mind couldn’t think of anything else to do but hide and cry. Just as I began to realize the magnitude of what had just happened it got worse. I realized that not only did I break the glass door, I had broken a promise. She had told me not to go outside but I did it anyway. It was an honest mistake. I just plain forgot in all the excitement of being able to use my new slingshot.

Stupid, stupid slingshot. I hate you! Thinking that it was somehow the slingshot’s fault. I threw my slingshot at the fence as I ran inside. At this point all I could do was wait. I knew that I had not only disobeyed mom, but now the front door was completely shattered. I was doomed. My life was over. I was sure the next time I would see the light of day was when I was old enough to leave the house for good.

As I sat in the corner, crying, in walked dad. I remembered earlier that day he said he was going to come pick me up and we would do something fun, but this was sure to change everything. He was sure to have seen the door as he drove in.

He walked directly over and sat down next to me. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to. ” I wasn’t even able to look up at him. I just waited in silence for the stern reply.

“How about a round of golf,” he said.

“But… but… what about the door? What about mom?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Did he not realize what I had just done?

“You worry about getting ready for golf, and I’ll worry about mom. ”

Years later I remember returning home to visit my parents. During my brief visit, my little sister had taken my brand new phone. Her favorite thing to do was to steal something of mine and run around as I tried to get it from her. This time though, before I could get it back she dropped it on the hard marble floor of my parents’ front entryway.

She completely froze, knowing I wasn’t going to be happy. All she could do was stare at the phone and just hope it wasn’t broken. As I looked at her, I reached down to pick up my phone with so many thoughts of what to say. And just when I almost couldn’t hold back any longer, I saw it, just behind her.

The beautiful, glass front door.