LAST BLOG POST EVER!

When I came to Wesleyan, the one thing I was scared of was writing papers. I could write amamzing speeches, poetry, and fun narrative stories, but I have to admit that my style and advancement of writing was very low. When I got to here, I learned that I had some bad habits that needed to be broken. For instance, I have a habit of using the word "you" a lot. I finally broke that habit, although it still arises here and there. But I first noticed it in this class.

I have always liked writing and seen it as something that I never really struggled with, just never felt that I was taught properly. I like writing observations and free writes, stuff that isn't so much structured. However, I extremely dislike rhetorical appeals. I think that every time I feel like I know what I'm talking about, I'm wrong. It was what I struggled with the most, but I think I did very well on my 2nd paper, "Return Ye Children of Men." I started to grasp what it meant to look at things rhetorically and its going on beyond what I would normally do while looking into a paper or picture or video.

I have always been a last minute writer. I can't focus if I try to do it earlier than a couple days before it is due. But I have a process that I love and think it works great. I always write my papers in a 2 day process. I will write a majority of it in one night, usually I get to a point where I am tired of writing so I stop. The next day, I go back and read over what I have already wrote, make changes, and then continue to finish my paper. Once I am done, I read it once more. I do this for my rough drafts and final drafts, and I also edit after every peer review.
The peer reviews I thought would help a little more than they did. I tended not to find them as useful as the teacher's own critique. With my last writing project, I was not happy with my peer reviews. I hardly used them as a reference for changes in my paper. I benefited most from hearing what you, Josh Ware, had to say about my paper. I believe the reason I got a decent grade on my last paper was because I listened to your critique and applied as much of it that I could into my final draft.

During the course, I felt that I excelled mostly in the area of description. My favorite blog post was to the video "What Hurts the Most" and I think my observation was one of my best. I also thought our first writing project, "The Elephant Museum" had good writing in it. However, I learned that I struggle with responses. That was my main critique in the paper, and I knew writing the paper that it was something I struggled with.

Although I did not like this section of the course, rhetorical appeals and analysis has definitely transferred over to other ares outside of English. I applied a lot of the concepts to my term paper for my LAS class. Unfortunately to all the speech kids that I judge for high school speech meets, I am now more picky when it comes to Oratory speeches. I look for rhetorical appeals used in the paper, what their argument is, and if it makes a point. The rhetoric process definitely helped me grow as a writer, and as a speech judge, despite my mumbles and grumbles about it.

Overall, I feel that I have grown as a writer since I entered this class. I have learned about rhetoric and observation. I know that the concepts I have learned have made me a better writer and will stay with me throughout my years at Nebraska Wesleyan.

Object Post #3

Loon Lake is located in Vergas, Minnesota. It is owned by a lady named Donna and her husband Mel. These two have known my family for many years, and its to their resort that we take our yearly vacation ever since I was born. It is here that my fondest childhood memories spark from, and a certain object of my grandfather's that I will never forget.

Tied between two perfectly spaced trees is the hammock. It is connected by two small trees that are planted right in front of the lot marked Bill and Dorothy Mohr, my grandparents. Anyone who would come in to dock their boats on the lake had to drive past their trailer and the concrete ramp was just feet away. Laying in the hammock, Grandpa could watch people come in for the week and then leave just 7 days later. He did this every day for many summers in a row. He was always peaceful, just sitting in the hammock, catching a nap or just waiting for visitors to walk by to talk about how many fish they caught or the weather. Old peole stuff mostly.

For any kid, the hammock was a new play toy; an oversized swing if you will. The normal tire swing down the road or the rope swing by the beach just wasn't up to par. The hammock was a conquest, the first there was the one who got dibs. It was just perfect height for a small 7 year old to crawl into, lay back onto the plushy pillow and rock back and forth. Gripping into the perfectly weaved holes of the hammock, rubbing your fingers back and forth against the texture. Staring up into the canopy the outstretched over my grandparent's tan color trailer. Imaginations ran wild, of oversized fish that you would catch later that day, the smell of grandma's food wafting in the air below your nose. The sound of jet ski's going back and forth, causing waves to crash upon the shores. Everything is perfect, until you hear it. "Jennifer, get off it's my turn!" The arguing begins between sisters, the excuses of who's older and who deserves it more spurt out of both mouths. Finally, Grandpa comes stomping up the road from his dock, pushes us both asides, lays down in the hammock, and the fighting of who gets the hammock, is clearly over.