Please critique my English paper!

[TheFriendlyAnarchist]

Hey, I turn this in tommorow, and I want some last minute thoughts ("Good job" is cool, but constructive is what I really need atm).
It's about when I went to Crawford last summer. I know I don't do the people in the writing justice, but I don't think I could with ten pages. What I felt about them can't be put on paper. So without further ado, my nice wall of text!


The Discovery of a Person
The large yellow sun peers and winks down upon us through the infinitely clear, blue sky. The air is hot and sticky, with so much water in it that it seems like you have to swim around rather than walk. Right next to me is my mother, who is short with long blond hair, and she is almost always smiling. Her aggressive nature has always been a source of excitement, because she is rarely silent about how she feels about something. When she believes something, she doesn't believe it half heartedly, but with the utmost conviction, sometimes to the point of near arrogance. She felt so strongly about what was going on and how we needed to be a part of it, that we have come here spur of the moment.

I sigh and smile as I think about the previous day. She asked me if I wanted to come along with her on this thousand mile trip at noon, with no previous warning or indication. We were out the door by two.

Bordering the road in many ditches are hundreds of colorful tents and chairs, many of which are written on, to show just a small bit of what that person is like. Along the brush by the road, there are even more and more people, many holding bright signs, while some talk with each other. On the other side of the cracked and worn road, there are pure white crosses. Hundreds of crosses standing as straight and refined as those honored soldiers they represent. Each cross has a name written on it. Every ribbon and flag adorning the solemn icons shows people cared for that person. It shows that their missing life can never be forgotten, and the eternal love held for that person will always be there. For every cross, there's not only a life that's been extinguished, but a family who's life as been forever changed.

Behind every person here is a story, and each one is unique. Most of these people have lost loved ones, and are sharing their stories here in Crawford, not two miles from George W. Bush's Texas ranch.

One of such people is Beatrice Salvador, a pretty, dark skinned younger woman who has lost her nephew and is still appears strong and fiery in her resolve to help people understand what's going on. She is a member of Military Families Speak Out, and is always ready to share her story with someone willing to listen. Another is a woman from New Jersey, Sue Niederer, short with a heavy accent and eyes with tears often in them, but an unhidden strength behind them. She is a co-founder of the group Gold Star Families for peace, and she lost her son in the war. She was a woman that I really connected with, partly because of her avid belief in this generation and that we could, and had to change the way the future was going.

I quickly turn away, desperately trying to hold in the impending tears, the few of many that will occur during this trip as I reflect on these stories. I look back at my mother who is now talking to an older man, probably in his fifties. His hair and mustache are long and grayed, and his army fatigues hang baggily over his thin form. He then begins the tale of his son, a young kid who was always smiling in his pictures, and was so full of life. He speaks of his love for his child that he'll never see again, and the incredible injustice that he and hundreds of other families have suffered from this unnecessary war. His son came back in a coffin, and no one was ever able to say goodbye. I grasp my mothers shoulder as she openly cries, and my own tears slide down from under my dark sunglasses.

His name is Bill Mitchell, a veteran, a member and co-founder of Military Families Speak Out, as well as Gold Star Families for Peace, and he is a man I will never forget, because he was the man who is one of the largest influences of my life. He was able to strike such emotion into my heart, that it felt as though I knew his son personally, and as if I was suffering his loss, as well as the loss of hundreds there.

Mr. Mitchell then rises and leaves to go give a radio interview on whats going on, an event that will most likely lead to the same heart wrenching and pain filled story about his loved son. My mother and I continue to stand there under the pounding sun, both of us quiet in mourning for the loss of children and loved ones, and for those they left behind.
A few solitary puffy clouds move around in the sky above us, only some daring to float in front of the light. After a few minutes, my mother wipes away her tears, and slowly rises. We begin to again walk down the small road, with a seemingly infinite number of chairs and signs following it. The people and cars probably wouldn't have stopped, and probably would've gone on to the President's doorstep had Secret Service let them.

My mother occasionally stops and talks to people briefly, asking who they are, and what had driven them here, but I'm too preoccupied to do much of anything but blandly give my name. My mind has withdrawn into itself, overloaded by what it's feeling about the world. The same thoughts keep coming in front of my mind, the same questions. The sheer magnitude of what's going on in me has driven me to silence. But through the convoluted mess, there is one thing I'm sure of. This is wrong. This war, this President, all of it. The mission was not accomplished, and never would be. It was failed as soon as the light left that first persons eyes.

All of my naïve thoughts about war have left me. How could they not have? To support a meaningless war would be saying I could look into a mothers eyes and tell her that I wasn't sorry her son died, and I won't do a thing to help her or others. To be anything but a pacifist would be calling people like Bill Mitchell's son simply casualties, or callously saying those innocent people who were murdered in our wars are collateral damage. They are human beings, and deserve respect as such. Not only were they human beings though, they were robbed of their lives in a tragic situation that could have been avoided. Them and their families deserve more than a number and a body bag.

My surroundings are still blurred, and I continue to respond to any questions asked with a short and unsatisfying answer. But over that day, and the next few days, I began to figure it out. I continue to take control of my life again, and I continue to discover who I am. I'm Brandon Forsythe, pacifist, civil libertarian, armchair philosopher, friend, son, brother, and student. But most of all, I'm part of the future of our world, the future that will hopefully make our world a better place.

[TheFriendlyAnarchist]

1. Kick for not failing english?

[LadyoftheRabbits]

2. Honestly...

I can't find a hell of a lot to pick apart. Then again... I had my papers butchered in junior year English. :eyes: You're a freshman, correct? You write much better than many I remember...

:hi:

[MiniMandaRuth]

3. Bravo! Bravo!

I love the last paragraph... Amazing.

Bravo!

[crim son]

4. I started to critique it earlier and then thought betterr of it.

I think it's fundamentally well-done and thought provoking. My only thought is on style... that some of the sentences could be made crisper... not many, though, and that you might remove a couple of commas. Oh, and "what's" needs an apostrophe. It paints a picture & I like it.

[Aristus]

5. Well, overall it is pretty good. But there are some awkward areas.

"Another is a woman from New Jersey, Sue Niederer, short with a heavy accent and eyes with tears often in them, but an unhidden strength behind them."

'...tears often in them' is awkward phrasing.

A better way to write this might be: "Sue Niederer is from New Jersey. She is short, speaks with a heavy accent, and her eyes frequently brim with tears. The tears cannot hide the reserves of strength radiating from her eyes, however."

That's just one example. Other DU-ers might provide better tips than mine. Avoid the passive voice and run-on sentences.

"My mother occasionally stops and talks to people briefly,..." You've got two adverbs in that sentence; 'occasionally' and 'briefly'. Cut it down to one. A favorite writer of mine edits his manuscripts by going through and eliminating EVERY adverb. You don't have to be that drastic, but try to use fewer "-ly" words.

"All of my naïve thoughts about war have left me. How could they not have?" This is in the passive voice. Find a way to use the active voice. "I have *blank* all of my naive thoughts about the war. How could I not?" "How could I not?" is grammatically correct and less awkward than "How could I not have?"

Don't be afraid of short sentences and bare-bones description. It worked for Hemingway.

Keep up the good work. :thumbsup:

[TheFriendlyAnarchist]

6. Thanks :-) Interestingly enough, you told me what every englsih teacher

I've ever had tells me. I seem to hear "Don't use a passive voice" and "Stop using so many commas!". I write like a speak, which is with lots of pauses, which often results in me making very long sentances.

[Aristus]

8. Writing like you speak can be a good thing. If you are writing fiction

it's a good way to create believable dialogue. But when writing narrative, it's a good idea to stick to the rules. The longer you write, the better you will become at determining which rules to obey, which to bend, and which to break.

As for long sentences, here's a good tip for you: If it is at all possible to break one long sentence down into two or more shorter sentences, do it. If you were to write the longest paragraph ever about the most confusing subject in history, the reader will be much more likely to understand it if you wrote in short sentences.

In case you're wondering, I scraped by in English classes with B's and B-minuses. I gotten better at grammar and sentence structure by extensive reading. Read a lot. Read as much as you can about any and every subject. You'll start to get a feel for how good prose is written. :-)

[Redstone]

10. Excellent suggestion. Reading about EVERYTHING, and thinking about

how you reacted to particularly well-written pieces can, indeed, help you write better.

Redstone

[Redstone]

7. Good God, that's a lot to ask for on short notice. But here's a quickie

commentary; look for the bold type:

The Discovery of a Person
The large yellow sun peers and winks down upon us through the infinitely clear, blue sky. The air is hot and sticky, with so much water in it that it seems like you have to swim around rather than walk. Right next to me is my mother, who is short with long blond hair, and she delete "she" is almost always smiling. Her aggressive nature has always been a source of excitement, because she is rarely silent about how she feels about something. When she believes something, she doesn't believe it half heartedly,halfheartedly is one word, or you can hyphenate it but with the utmost conviction, sometimes to the point of near arrogance. She felt so strongly about what was going on and how we needed to be a part of it, that we have come here at thespur of the moment.

I sigh and smile as I think about the previous day. She asked me if I wanted to come along with her on this thousand mile hyphenate "thousand-mile" trip at noon, with no previous warning or indication. We were out the door by two.

Bordering the road in many ditches are hundreds of colorful tents and chairs, many of which are written on,many of which have writing on them to show just a small bit of what that person is like. Along the brush by the road, there are even more and more people, many holding bright signs, while some talk with each other.one another, not each other On the other side of the cracked and worn road, there are pure white crosses. Hundreds of crossescomma here standing as straight and refined as those honored soldiers they represent. Each cross has a name written on it. Every ribbon and flag adorning the solemn icons shows add "that"people cared for that person. It shows that their missing life can never be forgotten, and the eternal love held for that person will always be there. For every cross, there's not only a life that's been extinguished, but a family who'swhose, not who's life as been forever changed.

Behind every person here is a story, and each one is unique"each one unique," not "and each one is unique". Most of these people have lost loved ones, and are sharing their stories here in Crawford, not two miles from George W. Bush's Texas ranch.

One of such peopleOne such person is Beatrice Salvador, a pretty, dark skinned{b]hyphenate "dark-skinned" younger young, not younger woman who has lost her nephew and is still appears strong and fiery in her resolve to help people understand what's going on. She is a member of Military Families Speak Out,italicize the title of this group and is always ready to share her story with someone anyone who is willing to listen. Another is a woman from New Jersey, Sue Niederer, rewrite this:-short with a heavy accent and eyes with tears often in them, but an unhidden strength behind them.-because it goes in too many directions She is a co-founder of the group Gold Star Families for peace,Italicize and capitalize the name of this group and she lost her son in the war. She was a woman thatImportant rule: People are not THAT, people are WHO I really connected with, partly because of her avid belief in this generation and that we could, and had to change the way the future was going.

I quickly turn away, desperately trying to hold in the impending tears, the few of many that will occur during this trip as I reflect on these stories. I look back at my mother who is now talking to an older man, probably in his fifties. His hair and mustache are long and grayed, and his army fatigues hang baggily over his thin form. He then begins the tale of his son, a young kid who was always smiling in his pictures, and was so full of life. He speaks of his love for his child that he'll never see again, and the incredible injustice that he and hundreds of other families have suffered from this unnecessary war. His son came back in a coffin, and no one was ever able to say goodbye. I grasp my mothers Apostrophe! Possessive! Your mother's shoulder! shoulder as she openly cries, and my own tears slide down from under my dark sunglasses. You're changing tenses, here. Make it all past or present tense, but don't mix.

His name is Bill Mitchell, ; he is a veteran, no comma, and insert the word anda member and co-founder of Military Families Speak Out,italicize the group's name as well as Gold Star Families for Peace,italicize the name and he is a man I will never forget, because he was the man who is one of the largest influences of my life. This is a damn broad statement, so you need to tell us why that is in more detailHe was able to strike such emotion into my heart, that it felt as though I knew his son personally, and as if I was suffering his loss, as well as the loss of hundreds there.

Mr. Mitchell then risesyou're switching tenses again and leaves to go give a radio interview on whatsAPOSTROPHE!! going on, an event that will most likely lead to the same hearthyphen here wrenching and painhyphen here, too filled story about his lovedbeloved son. My mother and I continue to stand there under the pounding sun, both of us quiet in mourning for the loss of children and loved ones, and for those they left behind.
A few solitarycomma here puffy clouds move around in the sky above us, only somea few daring to float in front of the light.what light? After a few minutes, my mother wipes away her tears, and slowly rises. We begin to again walk down the small road, with a seemingly infinite number of chairs and signs following it.the chairs are following you as you walk down the road? You need to rewrite this. The people and cars probably wouldn't have stopped, and probably would've gone on to the President's doorstep had Secret Service let them.What people? What cars? this sentence barges through the door without knocking. That's bad manners.

My mother occasionally stops and talks to people briefly, asking who they are, and what had driven themto come here, but I'm too preoccupied to do much of anything but blandly give my name. My mind has withdrawn into itself, overloaded by what it's feeling about the world. The same thoughts keep coming in front of my mind, the same questions. The sheer magnitude of what's going on in me has driven me to silence. But through the convoluted mess, there is one thing I'm sure of. This is wrong. This war, this President, all of it. The mission was not accomplished, and never would be. It was failed as soon as the light left that first personsAPOSTROPHE!! eyes.

All of my naïve thoughts about war have left me. How could they not have? To support a meaningless war would be saying I could look into a mothers APOSTROPHE!!eyes and tell her that I wasn't sorry her son died, and I won't do a thing to help her or others. To be anything but a pacifist would be calling people like Bill Mitchell's son simply casualties, or callously saying those innocent people who were murdered in our wars are collateral damage. They are human beings, and deserve respect as such. Not only wereswitching tenses again they human beings though, they were robbed of their lives in a tragic situation that could have been avoided. ThemThey, not them and their families deserve more than a number and a body bag.

My surroundings are still blurred, and I continue to respond to any questions asked with a short and unsatisfying answer.and what answer was that? But overthroughout that day, and throughthe next few days, I began to figure it out. I continue to take control of my life again, and I continue to discover who I am. I'm Brandon Forsythe, pacifist, civil libertarian, armchair philosopher, friend, son, brother, and student. But most of all, I'm part of the future of our world, the future that will hopefully make our world a better place.
-------------------------------------------------

Sorry, but that's all I can contribute this late at night.

Redstone

[celtdem]

9. A +

I'm a rather easy grader though. That guarantees people will sign up for my classes.

[Redstone]

11. And is that fair to your students? Does it help them LEARN?

Redstone

[celtdem]

12. Not my problem :) nt

[Redstone]

13. OK, fine. Nice to know you care.

Redstone