9 - 7 - 5 - 3 - 1

I had crouched behind my mother's giant clay pot

I crouched behind a giant clay pot

I crouched behind a pot

Behind a pot

Pot

Critics beat him down and he becomes more cautious

Critics beat him down, he becomes cautious

Critics beat him into caution

Critics change him

Critics

No matter what, we all grow up the same

We all grow up the same way

All grow up the same

Grow the same

Grow

FAQs on Conceptual Essay - Maturity -

Q: What is the main concept in your essay?

A: My essay is about maturity, specifically how maturity is always the same, no matter the situation. In other words, everyone and everything matures the same.

Q: What was the most challenging aspect of writing your essay?

A: The most challenging aspect of writing my essay was taking all of the disjointed rants I had writing and conjoining parts of them into a cohesive whole. There were many passages that I really liked that simply didn't fit with the main theme of my essay. I hope that I have a chance to use some of these passages in future writing assignments.

Q: If you could go back and make changes or additions, what would you do and why?

A: Looking back, I would like to change my title to something that hooked the reader a little more. Also I would like to go back to my conclusion and revise it to flow more with the rest of the essay. Having an intriguing title is always a good thing because it serves to engage the reader in your essay. My title is also severely lacking in any kind of intriguing qualities. I would like to revise my conclusion because it seemed to be out of place in the rest of my essay, almost as if it was plopped in.

Q: What was the most unexpectedly fun thing about writing this essay?

A: The most unexpectedly fun part of my essay was the preliminary stage where I was simply throwing things onto the page. I ended up with a bunch of random tangents that all seemed to flow from one to another, creating a very interesting thought-process-like rhythm. This is definitely something I would like to do more of in the future.

Conceptual Questions

1. What in the minds of a three year old causes them to become overwhelmed easily?

2. How are some mothers extremely anxious when their child runs away, while others are not?

3. What kind of effect would such a lavish party have on the status aspect of a child's brain?

False Memory Essay

Bring! Bring!

I sprang out of bed as soon as I heard my alarm go off. Sprinting out of my room, I practically collided with my older sister, Lauren. She immediately grabbed me in a crushing hug and screamed, “Happy birthday!”

Five minutes later I was dressed and downstairs eating breakfast. “Mom!” I shouted as I saw her walk through the door, “Mom! What are we doing today?”

“It’s a surprise.” She said with a wink.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” I said bouncing up and down in my seat with the newfound enthusiasm of a three year old.

“If I tell you then it won’t be a surprise. Eat you breakfast and then we can start.”

An hour later I was sitting in a circle on the grass outside my house. In the middle there was a clown who had creatively named himself Mr. Bobby. He was attempting to keep the attention of ten three year olds while explaining the rules to something he called the parachute game. It involved a large parachute, which all the kids would hold about a foot above the ground, while two of them would run around underneath it attempting to catch each other. Thinking back, I realize that this was probably not the safest game to be playing with small children. It was, however, extremely fun.

After that, things just kept coming. More and more people began to show up, and before I knew it, my backyard was awash with people. There was a fire truck in my driveway, along with a miniaturized train that ran the entire way around my house. There was even a bobcat, the construction vehicle not the animal, which I got to sit in and pretend to drive. It was too much for my brain to take in. The next thing I knew I was hiding behind a giant clay pot, trying to escape from all the noise and confusion of the party. I stayed there for an hour before I ventured back out. At the time it didn’t occur to me that my family might be scared to find me missing, so I was completely unprepared for the reception I got.

Before I even saw anyone, I heard a disembodied voice shout out, ‘I found him!” This set off a chain reaction in my head. Someone’s missing, I was just gone and no one saw me for an hour, maybe I’m missing. A sudden trepidation filled me. My first thought was that I should go back and hide behind my pot, and I may have done just that if not for the owner of the disembodied voice walking up in front of me.

“Oh thank god I found you.” she said, “Your parents are worried sick”

I let the strange woman lead me back into the tumultuous party and over to where my parents stood, their faces contorted by anxiety. The moment my mothers eyes fell upon me, she let out a tremendous sigh.

After I told her about become overwhelmed and my pot, she took me inside and sent most of the guests home. I was glad to be rid of all the confusion but at least I had an extremely interesting birthday.

Questions for Tobias Wolff

1. How come the vast majority of your stories are so open-ended?

2. When you write a story, do you write it all at in one go, or do you spread it out over a period of time?

3. What differences do you find between writing short stories vs novels?

Plodding cont.

"Clark’s father, however, was not the most remarkable character in the family." I remember the first conversation i had while in their house.

"So," Mr Clark said in his disgusted tone, "you boys off to go exploring, are you?"

"Yes sir" I replied, always polite.

"Well i shall have Reda (their stereotypical housekeeper) make you fellows some lunch to take with you."

"Thank you sir, but I'm sure we will be fine."

"Nonsense, you boys need to eat!" Mr Clark replied, his voice growing more gruff.

"Really sir, we'll be..."

"Oh come now, just take the food."

"Oh don't be so demanding Charles." said a voice from the door, "The boys can handle themselves."

Mrs Clarks power over her husband was absolute. At the sound of her voice, Mr Clark turned and fixed his wife with a cold stare. She met his gaze, two titans clashing together. After a few seconds, Mr Clark's entire body slumped as he gave in to his wife's iron will, and a shiver ran down my spine. Mr Clark was not a weak man, quite the opposite in fact, yet Mrs Clark had just completely overruled him with a simple gaze. Growing up in a family where the father had most of the power, this was just about the strangest thing i had ever seen.

This was the first of many such incidents. Although very different, each one ended the same way, Mrs Clark triumphing, while her husband skulled away. Unfortunately, people who are bullied by one person have a tendency to take out their frustration on another person, frequently someone who lacked the self confidence to stand up for their-self. A person such as Clark.

Plodding

“They were lucky people, Clark’s parents, lucky and unsurprised by their luck.” (Tobias Wolff, Flyboys 145). You could see it in their faces. Clark’s father always wore a haughty look, one that made you realize that this man could have anything he wanted, and that he knew you couldn’t. He had made a fortune investing and wanted the world to know it. He was invariably clothed in a hideous custard suit, one covered in frills, which somehow seem to accentuate his already sizable gut. Whenever he talked, he always sounded as though his moth was full of some disgusting dish. He would always try to impress you by using big words, which, ironically, he almost never knew the meaning of. Clark’s father however was not the most remarkable character in the family.
Clark’s mother had been born into a wealthy Irish family who own most of Dublin. Her father had built his company from the ground up. Orphaned at an early age, he had spent most of his childhood in the slums, until one day he entered a contest at his school. His classmates had always known that he was smart, but they had never comprehended the depths of his intelligence. The contest’s sponsor, an old-childless businessman, was so impressed by the boy’s intelligence that he brought him back to his home. It was here that Clark’s mother’s father learned the tools needed to succeed in life.
At age 25, he married a wealthy duchess, and used her money to build himself an empire. Theirs was a relationship not based on love, but rather mutual dependence. Soon after that Clark’s mother was born.
She grew up without ever learning the word no. What ever she wanted was hers, and she soon learned to use this to her advantage. She was an extremely bright child. Her father loved her for this, and because of it, her father gave her anything her heart desired. And while her father provided the gifts, her mother taught her how to be noble.
After her parents died, she began looking for a suitably rich husband. One starry night in Paris, she met Clark’s father. The two were a perfect match. Both rich, pamper, and pompous; they fell in love immediately. Nine months later, Clark was born.
A small, piggish looking boy, Clark seemed to have inherited none of his prodigious parents qualities, save for their intelligence. He lacked his mother’s drive, or her yearning for upward movement. He lacked his father’s cunning, or even his pompous attitude. He was an outcast in his own home. Without the love from his parents, Clark had two options. Slowly plod through life, or learn to fend for himself. Unfortunately, two years later, Clark is still plodding.

One Big Lie

Lies are everywhere. Now that's something thats true. People tell lies everyday. These can range anywhere from "of course you don't look fat in those pants" to "I really am your son". I, for instance, lie much more than I should. When i was in middle school, I used to make up fantastic stories about myself for my friends. As I've grown older, I have definitely stopped this (for the most part), but that doesn't mean I never lie anymore, although I try my best not to for one reason. That reason is that lying can have extremely dangerous consequences.

It is sometimes scary how readily some people except lies. I am not immune to this either, but I hope that I realize what I'm hearing is a lie, and that I just chose to accept it.

It is also very strange to try to remember lies that you have succeeded in. This is because these lies have a tendency to blend in with you life until even you believe them to be true. To this day I still don't know if some of my memories are true or if they are just pictures in my mind. Pictures that i have imagined so many times, the line between reality and fiction has been blurred.

Unless you have experienced this same phenomenon, what I just say may should like gibberish to you. Lucky for you, this entire essay may have been a lie.

Kind of an Oxymoron

"Come on class, take your seats. Ashley get your feet off Carlos!" Ms Dean exclaimed, her voice rising to its usual squeak. " Alright lets begin the lesson, and remember kids everything I'm about to tell you..."

"...is completely false" my classmates and I repeated in a monotonous tone that can only be achieved by repeating a phrase more times then afore thought to be humanly possible.

"Good job kids!" Ms Dean squealed in response.

My mind soon began to wander as Ms Dean drolled on about karasses and kan-kans, both elements of Bokonism.

Bokonism. The religion had taken the country by storm a few years back, now schools were required to teach it and everyone had to follow it. Not in a punishable-by-death sort of way, more of a shunned-by-everyone-you-know-until-you-have-no-friends kind of deal. What I never understood is that why we had to learn about all this stuff that's not true.

I was suddenly yanked out of my daydreaming by Ms Dean's squeaking.

"Jonah. Jonah?"

Cat's Cradle Interpretation

Call me Rhoades. Most people do. My real names actually John, but I never liked it. Anyway, Rhoades fits me better. I always liked Rhoades, not because of the way it sounds, but because it just fits me better. I know how that sounds but its true.

Anyway back to the point. Up until three days ago I was Catholic. I had always been Catholic. I would have kept on being Catholic if I hadn't found out about Roechism. Now I'm a Roechist, not because i believe everything it says. It just fits me better.

Roechism centers around what is called Scruma, which means subtle beauty. A devout Roechist can find beauty in anything. That's how I became a Roechist. I found subtle beauty.