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School Education /

Essay on Myself: 100 Words, 250 Words and 300 Words

Updated on
March 12, 2024

We are all different from each other and it is important to self-analyze and know about yourself. Only you can know everything about yourself. But, when it comes to describing yourself in front of others many students fail to do so. This happens due to the confusion generated by a student’s mind regarding what things to include in their description. This confusion never arises when someone is told to give any opinion about others. This blog will help students and children resolve the confusion and it also includes an essay on myself.

While writing an “essay on myself” you should have a unique style so that the reader would engage in your essay. It’s important to induce the urge to know about you in the reader then only you can perform well in your class. I would suggest you include your qualities, strengths, achievements, interests, and passion in your essay. Continue Reading for Essays on myself for children and students!

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Table of Contents

1 Long and Short Essay on Myself for Students
2 Tips to Write Essay on Myself
3 100 Words Essay on Myself
4 250 Words Essay on Myself
5 10 Lines on Myself Essay for Children
6 300 Words Essay on Myself

Quick Read: Trees are Our Best Friend Essay

Long and Short Essay on Myself for Students

Mentioned below are essays on myself with variable word limits. You can choose the essay that you want to present in your class. These essays are drafted in simple language so that school students can easily understand. In addition, the main point to remember while writing an essay on myself is to be honest. Your honesty will help you connect with the reader.

Tell me about yourself is also one of the most important questions asked in the interview process. Therefore, this blog is very helpful for people who want to learn about how to write an essay on myself.

Tips to Write Essay on Myself

Given below are some tips to write an essay on myself:

Prepare a basic outline of what to include in the essay about yourself.
Stick to the structure to maintain fluency.
Be honest to build a connection with the reader.
Use simple language.
Try to include a crisp and clear conclusion.

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100 Words Essay on Myself

I am a dedicated person with an urge to learn and grow. My name is Rakul, and I feel life is a journey that leads to self-discovery. I belong to a middle-class family, my father is a handloom businessman, and my mother is a primary school teacher .

I have learned punctuality and discipline are the two wheels that drive our life on a positive path. My mother is my role model. I am passionate about reading novels. When I was younger, my grandmother used to narrate stories about her life in the past and that has built my interest towards reading stories and novels related to history.

Overall I am an optimistic person who looks forward to life as a subject that teaches us values and ways to live for the upliftment of society.

250 Words Essay on Myself

My name is Ayushi Singh but my mother calls me “Ayu”. I turned 12 years old this August and I study in class 7th. I have an elder sister named Aishwarya. She is like a second mother to me. I have a group of friends at school and out of them Manvi is my best friend. She visits my house at weekends and we play outdoor games together. I believe in her and I can share anything with her.

Science and technology fascinate me so I took part in an interschool science competition in which my team of 4 girls worked on a 3-D model of the earth representing past, present, and future. It took us a week to finish off the project and we presented the model at Ghaziabad school. We were competing against 30 teams and we won the competition.

I was confident and determined about the fact that we could win because my passion helped me give my 100% input in the task. Though I have skills in certain subjects I don’t have to excel in everything, I struggle to perform well in mathematics . And to enhance my problem-solving skills I used to study maths 2 hours a day.

I wanted to become a scientist, and being punctual and attentive are my characteristics as I never arrive late for school. Generally, I do my work on my own so that I inculcate the value of being an independent person. I always help other people when they are in difficult situations.

Also Read: Essay on the Importance of the Internet

10 Lines on Myself Essay for Children

Here are 10 lines on myself essay for children. Feel free to add them to similar essay topics.

My name is Ananya Rathor and I am 10 years old.
I like painting and playing with my dog, Todo.
Reading animal books is one of my favourite activities.
I love drawing and colouring to express my imagination.
I always find joy in spending time outdoors, feeling the breeze on my face.
I love dancing to Indian classical music.
I’m always ready for an adventure, whether it’s trying a new hobby or discovering interesting facts.
Animals are my friends, and I enjoy spending time with pets or observing nature’s creatures.
I am a very kind person and I respect everyone.
All of my school teachers love me.

300 Words Essay on Myself

My name is Rakul. I believe that every individual has unique characteristics which distinguish them from others. To be unique you must have an extraordinary spark or skill. I live with my family and my family members taught me to live together, adjust, help others, and be humble. Apart from this, I am an energetic person who loves to play badminton.

I have recently joined Kathak classes because I have an inclination towards dance and music, especially folk dance and classical music. I believe that owing to the diversity of our country India, it offers us a lot of opportunities to learn and gain expertise in various sectors.

My great-grandfather was a classical singer and he also used to play several musical instruments. His achievements and stories have inspired me to learn more about Indian culture and make him proud.

I am a punctual and studious person because I believe that education is the key to success. Academic excellence could make our careers shine bright. Recently I secured second position in my class and my teachers and family members were so proud of my achievement.

I can manage my time because my mother taught me that time waits for no one. It is important to make correct use of time to succeed in life. If we value time, then only time will value us. My ambition in life is to become a successful gynaecologist and serve for human society.

Hence, these are the qualities that describe me the best. Though no one can present themselves in a few words still I tried to give a brief about myself through this essay. In my opinion, life is meant to be lived with utmost happiness and an aim to serve humanity. Thus, keep this in mind, I will always try to help others and be the best version of myself.

Kajal Thareja

Hi, I am Kajal, a pharmacy graduate, currently pursuing management and is an experienced content writer. I have 2-years of writing experience in Ed-tech (digital marketing) company. I am passionate towards writing blogs and am on the path of discovering true potential professionally in the field of content marketing. I am engaged in writing creative content for students which is simple yet creative and engaging and leaves an impact on the reader's mind.

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Student Essays

18 Best Written Essays on Myself [ Primary, High School, College ]

Writing an essay or Paragraph about Myself is the important part of our school exam, college, university or even during professional exams. Writing an Essay to Describe Myself is essential for school, college exams or tests. Read 18 Best written Essays on My self topic for Children & Students with quotes & images

Essays on Myself | Myself Writing, Essays & Paragraphs with Quotes | For Primary, High School & College Level Students

You are needed to write about yourself that describes you in best words. As it is said that practice makes the perfect. Once you have read and written about yourself a dozen or so times you become able to know what to write and what not to write about yourself. Writing an Essay on About Myself or Yourself is one of the most interesting and easiest job provided you know its basics.

As, everyone has got a different set of qualities, when you are writing an essay about yourself, you are supposed to write what you are in most interesting, engaging and creative manner. While you write you think about yourself and you know yourself better regarding your qualities and capabilities. This will increase your self awareness and interest apart from keeping you engaged without getting bored.

Writing a myself essay to describe you for your school, college, scholarship test or even for you interview introduction may seem easy at look. But whenever, you take up the pen you may often find yourself surrounded by the questions like what I myself am? what to write and how to write about yourself?

1. Long Essay on Myself For College Level Students

Among all the creatures on Earth, human being is definitely superior. Writing a few lines or words about myself to introduce, I feel myself to be tiny part of this entire world that is filled with the human beings around. I am a human. I myself am humble, kind, caring and courageous. I am most respected, loved and responsible human being. Though, it is quite hard to write about yourself yet I have tried myself best to express all about myself.

Hailing from a working class family, I am Rajesh. I am simple, sweet, confident and cunning fellow. My father is a renowned doctor who knows how to love his profession with passion and dedication. While my mother is a hardworking teacher at city public school whose only passion is to transform the lives of her students with knowledge and a good vision.

That’s I have learned, from the very start, the importance of passion, dedication, confidence and time management. We are four brothers and sisters among our parents and my grandmother. My family is what my parents had worked for, ie completely happy and satisfied one.

I am the youngest of my only brother and two sisters. My elder brother is just six years elder in age than me. My other two elder sisters are younger than my brother. Being the eldest one, sometimes, gives you the favors. Luckily, I am loved, cared and most favored upon in my all family.

I am the students of high school. My elder brother studies in university. One elder sister of mine is the college student whereas the the youngest sister of mine is studying class 10. That’s, I go to school with my younger sister. I wake up early in the morning and finish up all of my doings on exact time. We all pack up for our respective works. My siblings prepare for school, college and university.

My father, for hospital and my mother for nearby school. The values like hard work, time management, sincerity with work and dedication to purpose have been ingrained in our nature. Its true to say that a child becomes what the environment he gets in his home. All the essential humane qualities like sincerity, dedication, truth and honesty I do experience practically at my home.

The school is a place that truly helps shaping one’s personality. My school is like another Godsend gift for me. It is one of the best school in our entire vicinity. We are truly cared, rightly educated and well socialized here at our school. I myself feel proud of being a student here. I do take care of what is being taught and what is to learn. I respect my teachers, my fellow beings, my school and every thing that is associated with my school.

I am a good student, who actively participates in all activities, be it exams or extra curricular activities. The extracurricular activities like sports, quiz competitions, essays and speech competitions etc. are the heart of my institution. I myself am essay competition winner on various times.

Truly it is said, one can not study from the books alone. Instead, one has to learn from all extracurricular activities in which one participates. I myself am the best essay writer, cricket player, singer and dancer and topper in all exams. The Career planning is the very thing that irritates oneself. Without a sound career planning, right from the start, one can not stay on the right track. One has to do the things or set the goals in accordance to his or her broad career goals.

A man without a sound career planning is like a ship without the radar. It drifts and ultimately sinks down in the deep ocean. But unlike my father, who is a doctor, I myself feel a little interest in this profession. Though it is the best profession but one’s interest and aptitude differs. I myself wants to be a Civil servant to serve my people in my best capacity.

I am very much inspired from my maternal uncle who is the chief of police force. That truly inspires me so as I myself want to serve my nation by being a good civil servant. One’s future can be determined by what one has achieved today or what one is doing today. A man who dreams only for future and does nothing for tomorrow can be best named as lazy and the pathetic person.

In that way, I dislike myself being called as a man without a vision and castle maker in sky. I do work for what I dream. So far, I have proved myself being the best one in all fields like in academic, extracurricular and in personal domains. All of this success, hard work, dedication, determination is truly credited to my parents who have made this possible for me.

Successes and failures are closely associated with one’s achievements and losses. One who achieves anything today has lost a thing yesterday. There is no completely successful man without the mixture of both failures and successes. That is to say, I failed a dozen of times. But, every failure made me stronger ever.

My family, especially my mother, has been the much source of encouragement and motivation for me. That is why I myself am a truly self inspired, strengthened and dedicated fellow today. I have learnt a lot from my mistakes and from my failures. I never regard my failure as a curse rather an opportunity to improve and to improvise.

What I myself regard life is a total pot of opportunities. One has to harness one’s skills and abilities to the maximum of one’s capacity. For every problem there is a solution. I regard the life as a blessing gift to humanity. One should strive hard to improve not only his lot but for his fellow beings.

The service of humanity is the best of all services. What I have learnt myself from my experience and struggles is that one should never cease working hard, be confident, positive and adoptable to all situations. The biggest success is that one becomes invincible. Only than, one can face the life in a full vigor and fullest of confidence.

Therefore, writing about myself, I m here to express myself that what I see, what I experience and what I plan for my life is the total manifestation of what I do today. I try myself to be humble, passionate, dedicated, hardworking and honest. I deem my parents as being my best mentors. I have learnt the real meaning and worth of life from my parents. I am with a happy, focused and hardworking family. That is definitely the greatest blessing of God for me.

>>>>> Read Detailed Essays on My Mother that Every Student has Liked <<<<

2. Myself Essay for Class 9 and 10th Students

Hailing from a middle class family of Bihar, I am Naresh Chukla. I am currently studying in class 10th. I feel glad to be the part of this great school with the such great friends, helpful and loving teachers and the sound school administration.

No one comes in this world at the stage where I am right now, without the support of family and friends. In fact, what I am today, is because of my family. My father is a reputable business man in our community. My mothers is a doctor. They both love their profession. That’s I have learned from my parents. That is, the value of time, sincerity, hard work and dedication to the purpose.

We are three brothers and sisters. Being the eldest I am the most responsible from my brothers and sisters. I am in charge to guide and take care of my other siblings. We all study in the same school. Reading is my passion. I am an avid reader of Novels and history books. I have a keen interest in Indian History and classical architecture.

I love to read books that describe the rich history and civilization of ancient India. Apart from history, I love to read the novels of Shakespeare. Though I am rarely free from my routine works. But whenever I am free I love playing ludo game with my friends. I have been the top scorer in this game, in fact.

I have a little interest in online gaming. I rarely use my personal computer and Mobile device for games. I love to value my time for the good of my future. Friends are the best mirrors of a person. In fact, the circle of friends you chose to stay with, does define your personality and priorities. I am fortunate enough to have the best ever friends in my company.

Haresh is my best friends. Not only he is my best friend but he is my class fellow as well. He has been the top scorer in my class. He is, in fact, a kind, gentle and sincere individual.

I love time management and discipline in life. I have learned all of these value from my parents. My father is my true inspiration. He has groomed me like himself. I am quite inspired by him and that has been the single aim of my life to serve the people selflessly, as my father does.

Time is quite a precious commodity. One should exercise minimum care in utilizing one’s time. I have learned throughout all the years of my life, the good value of time and discipline. I love having the time management, sound strategy and clear cut goals in the life.

My life is full of experiments and achievements. I have got success many times and many times I have failed also. This all has truly taught me the importance of rising again and strike again. I continue to update myself to be the better version of myself. Although no one can be described in a few set of sentences. One need to have though command of oneself before going to write something about his life. That’s to say my life has become what is, an essence of all of my achievements and struggles

3. Myself Essay for Class 8

Living in central city, Benars, I am Kajal. I am the student of class 8. My school is located about 10 minutes away from my home. I have 2 brothers who are elder to me and one younger sister. My younger sister also studies at my same school. We reach at school at the fixed time by our school’s bus. It is great to come school with your friends in school bus.

I am good at studies at my class. All of my teachers know me personally. I am punctual and dedicated. Not only I do my homework timely but also I assist my other class friends in their school works. I have been the position winner at my school since class 1. I have keen interest in English and history. During my free class timing I do sit at school library and read my favorite books there.

Our school regularly organize annual national events. I do participate in tabloids, dramas, speeches and essay writing competitions. I am good at all extracurricular activities. Not only at school, but also I take keen interest in works at my home. I am learning cooking and practicing yoga regularly. My mother has inspired me much. She has been good books reader and know social worker.

I value the personal development and human ethics. Your personality and yourself is what you have made it to be. One’s self is essentially linked to what one does and practice in his life. The honesty, dedication, sincerity and humbleness are the virtues one learns during his childhood life with family, friends and at his school. A good family gives the good children. That’s to say, I am proud of my parents for being the best in their conduct and dealing with everyone. I am truly inspired.

Life is meant to be lived passionately and with a vision to do good for your fellow beings. Keeping this aim in mind, I have always aspired to serve my people in whatever capacity I can. I am thankful to my parents, friends and school teachers for standing beside me in every step of life. I am truly lucky.

Myself Essay writing with example introduction

4. Myself Essay for Class 7

Myself Jiya Kumari. I live in citizen colony, Madras. I am the student of class 7 at Madras national public school. It is one of the oldest and best ever school in my town. I have two elder brothers and one younger sister. My father is government servant whereas, my mother is a doctor. We all live happily with our parents. I usually go on foot to my school that is adjacent to my house.

I reach school on exact time. I participate in school’s assembly. During the classes I give full attention to my studies. That’s to say, I am confident, caring and punctual student. I do my home work timely and help my fellow students in their tasks. I am also good at non academic activities like writing, dancing and sports. During my free class time in school I prefer to study books in school library

Apart from school activities, I assist my mother at my home. I am learning cooking. My father always praise me for my talent and aptitude. I am also good at drawing. I have won many drawing competitions at my school. I am extremely thankful to my parents, my school friends and my loving teacher for being kind and helpful to me.

Simplicity, sincerity and love has no parallel in human life. The one who possess all of it, never fails in life. A kind, sincere and passionate man is what precious gift in the face of a boy or girl, a student, a son, a father, husband or any one.

That’s to say, these all virtues are needed to learnt from one’s childhood. Therefore, I always value sincerity, kindness and dedication of purpose in my life. This is what my parents have taught me to keep it the single goal in my life.

Related Post: 10 BEST LINES & MORE SENTENCES ESSAY ON MY SCHOOL

5. Myself Essay for class 6

Myself Krishna, hailing from civil lines area, Mumbai. I am the student of class 6, from Modern civil lines public school. I am the only son of my parents. My family include my sister my parents and grandfather. My father is an Engineer whereas, my mother is a good housewife.

Being the only son in my family I am most loved cared at by every one. I am slim, smart and good looking man with attractive personality. I am studying at one of the best schools of our area. My parents have made it possible for me to lean more and be a good person in future.

I am very punctual in my entire class. Being a genius student of my class, I am responsible for helping my other class fellows. I do help all of my class mates with great sincerity and dedication. I myself feel to be honored for being able to help others. My school doesn’t put emphasis on academic knowledge only. Instead, we are taught self discipline, confidence, sincerity, and dedication of purpose. I take great interest in science and Math.

In fact, I have won 3 science fair contests in our schools. I do watch sci fi movies and documentaries with great interest. My big purpose in life is to be a scientist. I wish to serve my nation. Apart from academic achievement I myself am is the good singer and cricketer. I do play cricket during my free time with my friends. In addition to that, I also attend classes at national dance academy to learn dancing.

Life is a great gift. Those people are really lucky who have got good family, friends and teachers. Since, they are instrumental behind the success of every man in this world. In that way, I feel very lucky and confident for being able to achieve all.

6. Myself Essay for Class 5

Coming from a well educated family of central city, Calcutta, I am Pooja Kapoor. I live in civil lines Calcutta. I study in 5th class in central city public school Calcutta. My father is a civil servant while my mother is the head of public hospital Calcutta. I have one brother and one sister. My grandmother also lives us. We are like a happy family. I do reach school at the fixed time.

Our driver drops all of us at our respective schools. My elder sister studies in high school whereas, my elder brother studies in college. I love my school. It is like a family to me. I love my teachers and my class fellows. We are taught in a most cooperative and kind way. That’s why, the students of my school always get good positions in exams and various competitions. I am an active talker and representative of my school. I do organize my class and coordinate with school teachers. I also take part in extracurricular activities like singing, quiz competitions, dancing, essay writing, speeches etc.

I always get top positions in most of the competitions held at school. We do participate all national events at school with great excitement. Apart from my student life, I am very kind and cooperative son of my parents. However, sometimes I do react angrily when things do not go as per the plan.

But I have learned to control my emotions of anger and fear gradually. I am greatly interested in arts and literature. That’s why I always go to visit many historical places and literary events with my uncle. I understand the life as a precious gift. One should always spend it wisely. I have leaned from my parents to be honest, straightforward, bold and fearless in all situations. I am proud of it.

>>>> Read 5 Different Essays on My Best Friend with Quotes &Examples >>>>>

7. Myself Essay for Class 4

Hailing from the main city area, Delhi, I am Jai Kumar. I study in class 4 in one of the best schools of our city. The name of my school is New foundation public school. My school is 20 minutes away from my home. My father drops me at school while going to his office.

I am very punctual and humble. I do take proper care of my time and try not to waste my time. I am very sincere to my class friends. In fact, I am one of the most favorite students of my teachers. Because I do my homework on time and try to learn more and more by studying hard.

Apart from being best at books, I do participate in school games and other events like singing, dancing, quiz and essay writing competition. I have won few medals in essay writing and sports competitions held in school. I am very responsible and honest in my personal conduct as well.

My parents has always taught me to be straightforward and bold. That is why my parents are proud of me always. I believe behind the success of any man there is great ever role by his parents and his sincere teachers as well. I myself feel lucky in that sense, being socialized under the shade and guidance of the most respected and loved fellows.

8. Myself Essay Class 2 and 3 Students

Hailing from new defense colony, Mumbai, I myself am Rani Kaweeta. I study in class 3, in city public school, Mumbai. My school is just 10 minutes away from my home. I m very punctual. I care about my time, my work and my responsibilities. I do my home work sincerely and help my class fellows. Apart from that, I do assist my mother in her daily routine works at home.

I like cooking. I like eating simple yet tasty foods. I do play table tennis with my elder brother at my home. Apart from that I am good dancer and sweet singer as well. I like working hard with dedication and sincerity. I prepare myself best for all exams an try to help my friends as well. I believe one should work hard to be successful in life.

9. Myself Essay For Class 1

My name is Rajesh. I come from a well reputed family of Delhi. I am studying in class 1. My mother is a housewife and my father is a famous doctor.

We are two brothers and one sister. My elder brother studies in class 6th and my elder sister studies under class 3rd. We all studying in the same school. My hobby is drawing. I have secured many prizes in drawing and painting competition. In fact, I have always wanted to be an artist and painter.

My elder is the good friend of mine. She defends me on my side everywhere. In fact, we all brothers and sisters love each other. I value, hard work, dedication and sincerity in life. These values have been taught to us by our parents. During summer vacations I love to see and visit the beautiful places of my beloved countries.

I love my life, my school and my purpose and aim in life. I want to do something good for my community and my country men. I mean life to be great gift for some special purpose by God. Therefore, I value time in my life and strive hard to serve my country and my community.

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10 lines on Myself for KG Students

1. I am Guria, I am 4 years Old.

2. I study in class KG, at City memorial School.

3. I have two brothers and one sister.

4. We all come to school together.

5. I am very punctual and I always do my homework correctly.

6. I love watching cartoons and animal movies.

7. My favorite dish is fish and rice made by my mother.

8. Every night my grand mother tells me stories that I love most.

9. My father is a business man and my mother is a doctor.

10. We all live with great love, peace and care.

11. Like my mother, I also want to be a doctor.

12. I want to serve my country men with this profession.

10. Short Speech About Myself For Students

I am given two minutes to talk about myself. When I ponder at my being, at my existence and my physique, first thing that strike in my mind is my existence as a human. I am not more than a human.

I being a human possess such qualities which distinguish me from rest of the creature of God. God has endowed human with faculty of reasoning and intellect which is the most sublime characteristic in every man. My life as a human is full of adventures, experiences and experiments. I am twenty years old boy. I study in university.

I passed my college and school life where I faced many hardships and difficulties but I didn’t yield to those temporary forces of world. Even I got miserably failed twice during my school life. My life is amalgamation of failures and successes.

When I have a cursory glance at myself now. I truly stand indebted to my poor parents who not only supported me but encouraged me through hard times. They never lost their hope in me. After consequent failures in exams. At last I succeeded and made my parents happy. I took second position at college level and joined university.

When I was selected in university I made my mind that I have to work every waking to succeed in exams. I am punctual, regular and dedicated to my studies. Since last two years at university, I am position holder and have topped in all curricular and extra curricular activities and events celebrated annually and monthly.

My aim and goal in life is to serve my family and my nation. I aim to be an army officer. Being a army officer I will safeguard the borders of my nation and provide safety and security to people.

11. Simple Essay on Me and Myself For Students

Hey there! I am glad you are reading this, because that means you want to know more about me. Well, let me tell you something – I am an open book and I love talking about myself. My name is (Your Name), and in this essay, I am going to share with you all about me and myself.

I was born in (Place of Birth) on (Date of Birth), and I am the eldest among my siblings. My parents always say that they knew I was going to be a talkative and curious child, even before I could speak my first word. And true enough, as soon as I learned how to talk, I would constantly ask questions about everything around me. I was always curious to learn and explore.

As a child, my parents instilled in me the importance of education. They always told me that knowledge is power, and it is something that no one can ever take away from you. With that belief in mind, I excelled in my academics throughout my school years. I am grateful for the teachers who have guided and shaped me into the person I am today.

Hobbies and Interests

Apart from my studies, I have a plethora of hobbies and interests. I love playing sports, especially (Favorite Sport), which has been a part of my life since childhood. It has taught me discipline, teamwork, and the importance of perseverance. Music is also something that brings joy to my life. I love singing and playing instruments, and it is my ultimate stress buster.

Personal Values

Growing up, my parents always emphasized the importance of being kind, honest, and respectful towards others. These are values that I live by every day. I believe in treating everyone with empathy and compassion because you never know what someone else may be going through. I also strongly believe in standing up for what is right and using my voice to make a positive impact in the world.

Career Aspirations

As of now, I am still exploring different career paths, but one thing is for sure – I want to make a difference in people’s lives. Whether it is through medicine, education, or community service, my ultimate goal is to bring about positive change in society. I also have a keen interest in (Field of Interest), and I hope to pursue it further in the future.

Challenges Faced

Just like everyone else, I have faced my fair share of challenges in life. From academic pressure and self-doubt to personal struggles and setbacks, each obstacle has taught me valuable lessons and made me stronger. I believe that every challenge is an opportunity for growth and self-discovery.

Support System

I am truly blessed to have a loving family, supportive friends, and amazing mentors who have always been there for me through thick and thin. Their constant encouragement and belief in me have helped me overcome my fears and achieve my goals.

In conclusion, this is just a glimpse of who I am and what I stand for. There is so much more to me than what meets the eye, and I cannot wait to see where life takes me. I hope to continue learning, growing, and making a positive impact in the world around me. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me a little better! So, this was all about me and myself. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And remember, never be afraid to express yourself and share your story with the world! Keep shining!

12. Sample Essay About Yourself For College:

Writing an essay about yourself can be a daunting task. It’s not always easy to write about our own experiences, strengths and weaknesses, and future goals. However, as a college student, you will probably come across this assignment at some point in your academic journey. So, it’s important to know how to tackle this type of writing effectively.

Firstly, let’s start with the basics. An essay about yourself is a type of personal narrative that tells a story or shares insights about your life. It can range from a few paragraphs to several pages, depending on the requirements of your professor. The purpose of this assignment is for the reader (in this case, your professor) to get to know you better and understand what makes you unique as an individual.

Now, you may be wondering, “Why do I need to write about myself? Isn’t my academic performance enough to showcase my capabilities?” While it’s true that grades and test scores are important, they don’t always give a complete picture of who you are as a person. This essay allows you to showcase your personality, interests, and experiences outside of the classroom, which can make you stand out among other students.

So, where do you start? The first step is to brainstorm and come up with a list of ideas that you want to include in your essay. It could be anything from significant life events to personal achievements or even struggles that have shaped you into the person you are today. Remember, the goal is not just to list your accomplishments but to provide insight into who you are and what drives you.

Once you have a list of ideas, it’s time to organize them into a cohesive structure. A common format for writing an essay about yourself is the introduction-body-conclusion model. In the introduction, you can start with a hook or attention-grabber that will pique your reader’s interest. Then, provide a brief overview of what you will be discussing in your essay and end with a thesis statement that summarizes the main points.

In the body paragraphs, you can expand on each idea by providing specific examples and anecdotes. This is where you can showcase your writing skills and make the reader feel like they are getting to know you personally. Remember to stay focused on the main topic and avoid going off on tangents, as this can make your essay appear disorganized.

Finally, in the conclusion, you want to tie everything together and leave a lasting impression on the reader. You can summarize your main points and reiterate how they have shaped you into the person you are today. It’s also a good idea to end with a strong statement or call to action that will leave the reader with something to think about.

13. Simple Myself Essay For Interview:

When asked to write a simple essay about myself for an interview, I was initially stumped. I mean, how do you sum up your entire life in just 300 words? But then I realized that it’s not about listing every single detail or accomplishment, but rather highlighting the aspects of yourself that are most important and relevant to the job or opportunity at hand.

So, let me introduce myself. My name is [name], and I am a [age]-year-old [occupation/studying] from [hometown]. Growing up, I was always curious and eager to learn new things. This curiosity has stayed with me throughout my life and has pushed me to constantly seek out new challenges and experiences.

I believe that this thirst for knowledge and determination to succeed are my strongest qualities. They have helped me achieve academic success, such as graduating with [honors/awards] and constantly being on the Dean’s List. But more importantly, they have shaped my character and taught me resilience in the face of challenges.

One of the biggest challenges I faced was when I decided to pursue my dream of studying abroad. Leaving my comfort zone and moving to a new country was not an easy decision, but it has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. It taught me independence, adaptability, and cultural awareness. It also opened my eyes to different perspectives and allowed me to develop a global mindset.

Aside from academics, I am also passionate about [hobby/interest]. This has been my creative outlet and a way for me to destress from the demands of school or work. I believe that having a balance between work and leisure is crucial for overall well-being.

This brings me to why I am applying for this job/opportunity. [Explain how your qualities and experiences align with the job/opportunity]. I am excited about the challenges and growth opportunities that this position offers, and I am confident that my skills and passion make me a strong fit for the role.

In conclusion, while it may seem daunting to write about oneself, I hope this short essay has given you a glimpse into who I am. My determination, curiosity, and passion have driven me to succeed in both my personal and professional life, and I am eager to continue this journey with this job/opportunity.

Thank you for considering my application, and I look forward to the opportunity to further discuss my qualifications with you. So, this was a brief introduction about myself and I hope it gives you a better understanding of who I am as a person. Thank you for your time and consideration!

14. Short Essay on I am Unique:

As we go through life, we often hear the phrase “Be yourself” or “You are unique”. But what does it really mean to be unique? In simple terms, being unique means being one of a kind, unlike anyone else. And each and every one of us is unique in our own way.

We are all born with different physical features, personalities and talents. No two people are exactly the same, even identical twins have their own unique traits. This is what makes us stand out from one another and sets us apart from the rest of the world.

Being unique also means embracing our individuality and not conforming to society’s standards or expectations. It means having the courage to be true to ourselves and not being afraid to show our true colors.

One of the great things about being unique is that it allows us to bring something special and valuable to the world. We all have our own strengths, passions and ideas that can make a positive impact on those around us. By embracing our uniqueness, we can inspire and influence others in a way that no one else can.

However, being unique also comes with its challenges. It can be difficult to stand out in a world that constantly tries to make us fit into a certain mold. We may face criticism or judgement for being different, but it’s important to remember that our uniqueness is what makes us special and should be celebrated.

In conclusion, being unique means embracing our individuality, using our strengths to make a positive impact and not being afraid to be ourselves. So let’s embrace our uniqueness and inspire others to do the same. Remember, you are one of a kind and that is something to be proud of. So go out into the world with confidence, knowing that you are truly unique in every way.

15. Short Professional Essay on Myself:

I am sure by now you have read the essay on myself and have learned a few things about me. But, let’s dive deeper into my background and get to know each other better.

I was born in a small town in [insert location here]. My parents were hardworking individuals who instilled strong values in me from a young age. Growing up, I always had a love for learning and exploring new things. I was always curious about the world around me, which led me to have a broad range of interests.

In school, I excelled in both academics and extracurricular activities. I was a member of various clubs and organizations, which allowed me to develop my leadership skills. I also participated in sports teams and played the piano, which helped me to balance my academic pursuits with physical and artistic activities.

After completing high school, I pursued my passion for [insert subject here] by enrolling in college. It was a challenging yet rewarding experience as I learned more about the subject and myself. I met many new people from different backgrounds, all with their unique stories and perspectives. This exposure broadened my understanding of the world and helped me grow as an individual.

As I progressed through college, I began to think about my future career path. After much contemplation and guidance from my professors, I decided to pursue a career in [insert career here]. It was a decision that felt right for me, and I haven’t looked back since. My passion for this field continues to grow, and I am excited about the opportunities it presents.

Outside of academics and career pursuits, I enjoy spending time with my family and friends. They have always been my support system and a source of joy in my life. I also love traveling and exploring new cultures; it allows me to experience different ways of life and broaden my perspectives even further.

In conclusion, I am a curious, driven, and open-minded individual who is always eager to learn and grow. I am grateful for the experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today and look forward to what the future holds.

I hope this essay has given you a glimpse into who I am, and I look forward to getting to know you better as well. So, let’s continue to learn from each other and make our journey through life even more enriching. We never stop growing, and I am excited to see where our paths will lead us. Cheers to new adventures!

16. 5 Years from Now I See Myself Essay:

Wow, it’s crazy to think about where I’ll be in 5 years. Time just seems to fly by so quickly. But if I had to imagine where I see myself in 5 years, there are a few things that come to mind.

First and foremost, I hope that I am happy and healthy. Without our health, we really have nothing. So, in 5 years from now, I hope that I am still taking care of my physical and mental health. This means eating well, staying active, and making time for self-care activities.

But when it comes to other aspects of my life, there are a few things I would like to achieve in the next 5 years. For starters, I hope to have advanced in my career. I am currently working towards a specific goal, and I hope that by the 5-year mark, I will have achieved it or be well on my way to achieving it.

I also hope to have traveled more in the next 5 years. Traveling has always been a passion of mine, but unfortunately, life can get in the way sometimes. So, in the next 5 years, I hope to have had the opportunity to visit some new and exciting places, both within my own country and abroad.

On a personal level, I hope that in 5 years from now, I will have grown and developed as an individual. This could mean learning new skills or taking up new hobbies. It could also mean forming stronger relationships with loved ones and becoming more confident in who I am.

But ultimately, 5 years from now, I hope that I am content and at peace with where I am in life. Of course, there will always be room for growth and improvement, but as long as I am happy with the direction my life is headed, that’s all that matters.

It’s also important to note that life can be unpredictable. No matter how much we plan and try to envision our future, things can change in an instant. So, while I have certain goals and aspirations for the next 5 years, I am also open to whatever opportunities and challenges may come my way.

In conclusion, 5 years from now, I see myself as a happy, healthy, and fulfilled individual. I hope to have achieved personal and professional growth, as well as having had some unforgettable experiences along the way. But most importantly, I hope that in 5 years’ time, I am content with who I am and where I’m headed in life. So here’s to embracing the journey and making the most out of every moment!

17. Things I would Like to Change about Myself Essay:

As humans, change is a constant process. We are continuously evolving and adapting to new situations and challenges. However, when it comes to changing ourselves, we often find it challenging to do so. It requires us to look at our weaknesses and areas of improvement without any bias or judgement.

If given the chance, there are several things that I would like to change about myself. One of the most significant changes I would like to make is my procrastination habit. Procrastination has been a constant struggle for me, and it often leads to missed opportunities and last-minute stress. I want to change this habit by becoming more organized and disciplined in managing my time.

Another aspect that I would like to work on is my lack of confidence. There have been several instances where I have held myself back from trying new things or taking up challenges because of my self-doubt. I want to change this by becoming more self-assured and believing in my capabilities.

In addition to these, I also want to change my negative mindset. Sometimes, I find myself dwelling on the negatives instead of focusing on the positives. This often leads to unnecessary stress and anxiety. I want to change this by adopting a more positive outlook on life and embracing challenges as opportunities for growth.

Furthermore, I would like to change my communication skills. While I am comfortable communicating with people I know, I struggle with expressing myself in front of strangers or in unfamiliar situations. To overcome this, I want to work on my public speaking abilities and learn to effectively convey my thoughts and ideas.

Last but not least, I would like to change my tendency to compare myself with others. Comparison is the thief of joy, and it often leads to feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt. I want to focus on my own journey and accomplishments instead of comparing myself with others.

In conclusion, there are several things that I would like to change about myself. These changes may not happen overnight, but with determination and effort, I believe that I can become a better version of myself. After all, as the saying goes, “Change begins from within.” So let’s embrace change and strive towards becoming the best versions of ourselves. So why not take the first step now? Let’s reflect on the things we would like to change and start working towards them. Remember, small changes can lead to big transformations in our lives.

18. Short Essay on Myself as a Social Worker:

As a social worker, I have always been passionate about helping others and making a positive impact in their lives. Growing up in a small community, I witnessed firsthand the struggles that people faced on a daily basis – whether it was poverty, domestic violence or mental health issues.

These experiences shaped my desire to become a social worker and make a difference in the world. It is a profession that requires empathy, compassion and a strong sense of social justice. And as I embark on this journey, I am constantly learning and evolving – both personally and professionally.

One of the most rewarding aspects of being a social worker is the opportunity to connect with diverse individuals from different backgrounds. Whether it’s working with children, families, or marginalized communities, each interaction leaves a lasting impact on me. I am constantly humbled by the strength and resilience of the people I work with, and it motivates me to do everything in my power to support them.

But being a social worker isn’t always easy. It can be emotionally taxing at times, and there are moments when I feel like giving up. However, the knowledge that I am making a positive difference in someone’s life keeps me going. It is a constant reminder that my work has meaning and purpose.

One of the most important skills I have developed as a social worker is the ability to listen without judgment. I have learned to truly hear what people are saying, and more importantly, what they are not saying. By creating a safe space for individuals to share their struggles, hopes and dreams, I am able to provide them with the support and resources they need to overcome their challenges.

Being a social worker is not just a job for me – it is my calling. It has taught me the value of human connection, and how small acts of kindness can make a big difference in someone’s life. Every day, I am inspired by the strength and courage of the people I work with, and it reminds me of why I chose this path.

In a world where social issues are becoming increasingly complex, the role of a social worker is more important than ever. It is a profession that requires dedication, resilience, and a constant desire to learn and grow. And as I continue on this journey, I am grateful for the opportunity to make a positive impact in the lives of others and be a part of their journey towards healing and empowerment. So, I urge anyone considering a career in social work to embrace it with an open heart and mind – because there is no greater satisfaction than knowing you have made a difference in someone’s life.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. how do i write an essay about myself or how can i write about myself.

Writing an essay about myself is not that much difficult. A good essay on myself should contain the following points;

1. Brainstorm and jot down the your ideas in outline
2. Write about your experience and struggles in life.
3. Write clearly about your achievement as well as life failure
4. Say about your future goals.
5. Never hide and don’t shy to mention your personal opinion about life experience.
6. Be expressive and straightforward in your words
7. Proof read, look at the structure of your words and you are done

2. How can I write about Me?

Writing an essay about ‘me’ is the kind of composition that shows the intellectual and observational qualities of the writer. To write an essay about one’s own self, there needs to be clarity in words, expressiveness of ideas, and straightforward approach to write an essay that reflects one’s personality, life and achievements.

3. How can I introduce myself in English example?

In order to effectively introduce yourself in English, you have to keep in mind few things. The practical things that matter include, a clearer and straightforward expression, a conviction in words for life struggle, achievements, failure and future, and above all, an ability to be expressive, clear with careful selection of words

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17+ Great Ideas for an Essay About Yourself

Chris Drew (PhD)

Dr. Chris Drew is the founder of the Helpful Professor. He holds a PhD in education and has published over 20 articles in scholarly journals. He is the former editor of the Journal of Learning Development in Higher Education. [Image Descriptor: Photo of Chris]

Learn about our Editorial Process

An essay about yourself should present you in a positive light, but also leave your reader with a greater understanding of what it is that makes you tick. What’s your inspiration and motivation?

In this article, I’ll give you a range of ideas to include in your essay about yourself. These ideas will show you how to tell a compelling story about who you are.

Pick one or more of these ideas and use it in your essay to improve its quality.

1. Come up with One Word about Yourself and Put it in your Title

Your essay heading sets the tone for the rest of the essay.

One way to get yourself started on the right track for your essay describing yourself is to ensure you have the one key word that describes you in the title.

How would you describe yourself in one word?

Here’s a few ways I’d describe myself:

Introverted

Now, if you need to write your essay in a way that presents you in the best way possible, then of course you’d select the one that does that!

So for me, that’d be ‘optimistic’.

I could then set my title to something like: “An Essay About Chris, the Eternal Optimist.”

Here, your reader has been introduced to the central trait I want to reinforce in the essay right away. You’ve set the tone now.

Now that you’ve used that key term at the start, make sure you follow-up by using that same term a few more times throughout the piece so that you keep it as a clear motif throughout. I’d recommend at least using it in the introduction, body and conclusion.

2. Make it Personal using Anecdotes

The difference between a good and great essay about yourself is the use of personal anecdotes.

You want your essay to stand out because it’s thoughtful and unique.

Anyone can tell a story of who they are. Anyone can say: “Here’s who I am and here’s what’s good about me.”

Not everyone can tell a detailed, thoughtful and personal story that’ll show (and not tell) people who you are.

Personal anecdotes might include:

A discussion about your ancestry;
A story about how your ancestors came to your country;
A story about how your parents came up with your childhood nickname;
An important story from your childhood;
A personal challenge that you currently face;
A personal challenge from the past that you’ve overcome

Or anything else that shows your personality! So, let’s zoom in and take a look at how you could write about each of the points from above.

3. Describe your Ancestry

Dig deep – way back. Who are your ancestors?

Two of the best questions you can ask to tell a really good story about yourself are these:

Who are your ancestors?

How did your ancestors shape who you are.

What is your connection to them?

Let’s take them one at a time.

Your ancestors might be Greek, or Scottish, or Irish, or Italian. Maybe you have some Native American ancestors or maybe they were Pioneers heading to America?

You can start this essay by explaining your ancestry to really start shaping a quality story about yourself. One example is to tell a story about how your ancestors came to your country.

For me, I’d talk about how my Ancestors were a loose collection of quirky characters who came to Australia for a better life. Some were “10 Pound Poms” – British people seeking a better life. The paid 10 pounds to get on a boat and head to a new world. And others were convicts, sent out for stealing sheep.

Is there an interesting hook about your ancestry to start your essay?

Your ancestors should mean a lot to you. They should show you the path to a better life. What sacrifices did they make for you to be who you are today?

I could talk about how they had a tough life to come from working-class backgrounds. They worked the land and battled hardship to give me what I’ve got.

Now, I’m a happy, free, relatively wealthy person because of their hard world.

Who you are is because of your ancestors.

For me, they are the reason I value hard work. I also know my grandfather fought hard for a good wage for people on the railways. So, I have a sense of solidarity with hard-working working-class people because of him.

I also believe strongly in the importance of living a free and happy life because my ancestors are Australians. We’re Aussies! We work hard and have fun. That’s something my ancestors gave me, and I’ll carry all those values forward for my children one day, too.

Can you see that telling a story of your ancestors can really reveal a lot about what’s deep inside you? They show you your values and they’re your guiding star.

4. Tell the story of how you got your Childhood Nickname

Here’s another interesting story idea that can get your essay started on the right track.

How about telling the story of how you got your childhood nickname?

Here’s an example: My sister’s nickname was Boo Boo.

(She’d be made at me if she knew I told you that!)

She was called Boo Boo because she was always hurting herself! She was always having “boo boos”, which was our slang for “mistakes”.

Here, her nickname tells a story about herself. It tells a story about how she can sometimes be a little bit clumsy. This could be a good personal story to use to introduce herself to the reader.

Do you have a unique nickname story?

5. Tell an Important Story from your Childhood

Do you have any childhood stories that really reflect who you are?

This story might be:

Tell the story of a childhood family holiday: Your story of your family holiday might highlight how important family is to your sense of who you are. Did the family holiday show you how much family is important to you?
Tell the story of a time you realized something: I remember seeing a kid at school being bullied once and feeling really uncomfortable about it. I ended up sitting with him during the lunch period because he was upset. That was the day I really realized that something deep inside me is a sense that kindness is one of the most important things in the world.

Have a think. Are there any stories from your childhood that you can tell that reveal something about who you are and what your values are?

6. Start with “When I’m old I will look back and reflect on…”

Here’s a strategy that works really well.

When you start from the perspective of someone looking back, you often reflect on the things that are most important.

Have you ever seen an older person telling a story? It’s often a story told from the perspective of wisdom . We might call this 20/20 hindsight.

So, start your story by discussing what you’ll look back on about your life: what will you be proud of? What parts of your personality would you want to reflect on with pride?

It might be:

“When I’m old I will look back and reflect on the things I did to help other people. For example, one time I … [did this]”
“When I’m old I will look back and reflect on the quality time I spent with my family. My family is the most important thing in my life. One of these quality times is when …”
Any other ideas you have?

7. Or, Start with “In ten years I will be…”

We can flip Step 6 on its head, and talk about where you want to be in 10 years. This will force you to reflect upon what’s most important to your future.

When talking about your goals and how those goals are linked to your values.

Here’s some examples:

“In ten years time I will be just returning from an amazing trip around the world. I have a strong sense of adventure and I want to spend the next 10 years fulfilling my dream of adventure.”
“In ten years time I want to be busy working in a not-for-profit doing something for people less fortunate than me. This vision drives my decisions that I make today. It drives my desire to … [study a course?]”
What will you say if you start with “In ten years time…”?

8. Describe your Interests

No matter how you start your essay, you need to make sure that your story shows what you are interested in.

Your interests are what you do in your spare time

You might, for example, be interested in a particular topic. This will show how you’re set apart from others. We all have different interests.

Here’s a few examples of people’s interests:

Dinosaurs: Ross Gellar from the TV show Friends would write in his story that one of his biggest interests is dinosaurs!
Sports: Many people put sports at the center of their interests and motivations. Are you passionate about a sport that you watch or play? This could be included in your essay about yourself.
Reading: Many young people love to read. You can talk about this as something you love, and then discuss how reading helps you think more deeply about issues in this world.

What are your interests? Could you use these as the basis of your essay about yourself?

9. Describe what Motivates You

Right at the core of your essay about yourself should be a message about your motivations. What is it that you dream about? What is it that gets you out of bed in the morning?

A motivation is different to an interest. Your interest is what you do in your part-time. Your motivations are your long-term goals that will give you fulfillmen t.

People want to see what makes you tick.

Your motivations don’t have to be for money or a career. A lot of people are deeply motivated by their passions like:

Getting fit, or pursuing fitness goals;
Being a part of a community;
Helping others out, especially the less fortunate;
Making their family proud;
Seeing amazing, remarkable things;
Inventing or discovering something that improves the world

For me, my biggest motivation is my blog. I take pride in it and how it helps people out. So maybe I’d tell the story of my blog, and how it reflects my intrinsic desire to help people learn new things.

So, what motivates you?

10. Identify your Current Personal Challenges

Teachers like to see that you are taking a proactive role to address or overcome personal challenges. So, you can base your essay about yourself on a current personal challenge.

The important thing for an essay on a current personal challenge is this:

Identify what your challenge is; and
Explain how you are working hard to address it.

Your challenge might be a personal disability, a setback you’ve recently had, or a goal that you’re working towards achieving.

Wanting to join the military: You could talk about your major challenge being a career goal like getting accepted into the military. Then, you’d need to show something about how you are addressing this by, for example, following a rigorous exercise regime.
Living with a disability: Maybe you have a disability or medical problem that you need to address. You could talk about how it hasn’t stopped you from believing in your ability to achieve. While it might make life harder, show how you’re a determined person who won’t let adversity get in your way.

By revealing how you are overcoming your challenges, you’re revealing something about yourself. You are showing your marker that you’re a hard, diligent worker. That you have resilience and drive. And that you’re someone who strives to achieve.

11. Identify the Biggest Challenge you’ve Overcome

If there’s challenges in your rear-view mirror that you have already overcome, you can also talk about that.

Pause for a moment and think about the biggest achievement of your life. Was it getting that score you wanted in a science test? Was it making it into the football team after a lot of training and practice?

By telling the story of a personal challenge that you have already overcome, you’re showing how you’re a competent, capable and resilient person.

Here’s some examples of overcoming challenges:

Winning a team sport: Talk about all the work you did as a team in the lead-up to the win. Did you take advice from the coach and use it to become better? Did you learn that you had to work as a group to succeed?
Getting an award: Were you awarded once for your skills? What did you need to do to win the award? Was it hard work that paid off?

12. Be Humble

It’s important to strike the appropriate tone for your essay about yourself.

One of the biggest mistakes people make is that they too hard to sell themselves. This usually makes you sound arrogant and self-absorbed.

One of the best ways to sound humble is to express gratitude. When discussing who you are, what you achieved and what your strengths are, remember to mention who it was who helped you get there.

People you might be grateful for include: parents, teachers, siblings, friends, your country and mentors. Talk about how they were instrumental in your success. Maybe they were patient with you, presented opportunities for you, or forgave your mistakes.

It’s also good to make sure you don’t compare yourself to others. It’s not a good idea to say “I achieved better than anyone else.” Focussing on how you worked hard for your achievements is enough: there’s no need to talk about how you’re better or the best. Focus on the effort you put in, not the fact that you’re better than anyone.

To learn more about tricks on being humble, I recommend this good summary of ways to be humble from Forbes.

13. Describe your Personality Type

Here’s another interesting way of approaching the essay.

If you’re struggling to explain yourself, you can take a quiz that tells you what your personality type is. Something really nice about these quizzes is they not only give you words to explain what your personality type is, but they also give you some ideas to talk about.

Here’s a few good personality type quizzes:

16 Personalities : This quiz decides which personality you are from 16 types, such as debater, entrepreneur, adventurer and entertainer. I got the ‘Advocate’ meaning I am driven by “idealism and morality” and am mainly an introvert. What are you? Share in the comments below!
Learning Styles : This quiz finds out how you learn. Are you the sort of person who learns in solitude or with others? Are you an introvert or extrovert? Another alternative is the VARK quiz which sees which sort of category of learner you are: Visual, Auditory (sound), Read/Write, or Kinesthetic (using your body).
Career Quiz : This quiz asks you a range of personality questions to give you ideas about what you want to talk about. Then, it’ll suggest the ideal career for you based on your personality!

14. Include Details you’d put on a CV

You want your essay to tell a story about yourself.

But you also need to include hard, solid details.

So once you’ve told your story of yourself, go through your CV (or ‘resume’) and see what else you can include. Can you include details about your strengths that you have listed on your CV?

Maybe you can also include points about your previous jobs or education achievements that you have listed on your CV.

This will help back up your story with hard evidence.

You might also find out that there are a lot of details on your CV that will give you story ideas. You might not think you’ve achieved remarkable things until you look at your CV and reflect on the hard work you put into each of the jobs or achievements you have listed there.

15. Describe your Physical Attributes

Another thing you can weave into your story is an outline of what you look like!

It’s one of the first things you read about someone in any story.

Here’s how Mr. and Mrs. Dursley in Harry Potter is introduced:

“Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours.”

How would you describe your physical attributes? Remember not to be negative about yourself, but you could describe yourself as tall, short, stocky, or lanky. How about your hair? Is it frizzy or straight, long or short?

16. Explain who is your Biggest influence and Why

The person who is your biggest influence would reveal a lot about who you are. Are you influenced by someone because of their power and strength, or wisdom and insight? Are you influenced by people for their nobility and patriotism, or their sense of adventure?

This will show your reader what makes you tick.

One of my big influences is Alex Honnold. He is a famous rock climber. What does that reveal about me? Well, it shows that I admire adventurous people and people who follow unconventional careers.

Who is your biggest influence? What does this reveal about you? Can you weave this into your essay about yourself?

17. Conclude by Returning to your Opening Hook

In this article I’ve shared with you a ton of ideas that you can use for your essay about yourself.

No matter which idea you select, I recommend including this last tip.

You should start your essay with an interesting ‘hook’ or anecdote about yourself.

I recommend concluding your essay by returning to this opening hook. We call this the ‘closing the loop’ method. You can start it something like this:

“I began this essay by telling the story of how I’m inspired by my father. I want to return to this point, as it’s the most important point in this essay. All of the points in this essay about myself have highlighted how I’m driven and motivated to live up to his amazing example. I have discussed…”

…And then you’d sum up what you discussed!

I outline the exact process of how to conclude an essay using this ‘closing the loop’ method in this post on how to write great conclusions .

Chris Drew (PhD) https://helpfulprofessor.com/author/chris-drew-phd-2/ 10 Reasons you’re Perpetually Single
Chris Drew (PhD) https://helpfulprofessor.com/author/chris-drew-phd-2/ 20 Montessori Toddler Bedrooms (Design Inspiration)
Chris Drew (PhD) https://helpfulprofessor.com/author/chris-drew-phd-2/ 21 Montessori Homeschool Setups
Chris Drew (PhD) https://helpfulprofessor.com/author/chris-drew-phd-2/ 101 Hidden Talents Examples

Write About Yourself: Tips and Prompts

by Joe Bunting and Sue Weems | 199 comments

When you have to write about yourself, do you hit a roadblock? If so, you're not alone. There are a number of situations when you have to write about yourself for school, work, or publication. Let's break down a few ways to make it easier and then use some prompts to get you started.

Write About Yourself with blue hello name tag

When Do You Have to Write About Yourself?

Several scenarios might require you to write about yourself from personal essays to job applications and biography blurbs.

The key for each is to think about the purpose and the target audience. Then shape your personal history or life experience into a well-crafted piece of writing that meets those needs of purpose and audience.

Let's look at a few of the most common scenarios where you have to write about yourself.

Personal Essays

Personal essays aren't just for high school. A personal essay typically reflects some aspect of your life that you are sharing for a specific purpose. Many college applications or scholarship applications ask for a college essay or personal statement to help them get to know you as a student or applicant.

If it's for a university or school application, you might write about:

academic achievements
personal accomplishments
difficult experiences that helped you grow
personal stories that relate to your desired field of study

Personal essays will have a friendly tone regardless of the essay topic. The personal examples you include or the personal stories you tell will need to be focused tightly on the audience and purpose. If you're trying to get into a university engineering program, you don't want to write about a pet's passing.

Your story of losing a pet is likely moving and will tell committee members about you and your personality traits, but it won't communicate why you might be a good fit for their school or program.

If you're writing a personal essay for a course in narrative or memoir, then of course, your story of your pet's passing would likely be a solid choice.

Personal Essay Prompts

1. Tell about a time you overcame a significant hardship.

2. Describe an interest that makes you lose track of time.

3. Tell the story of an experience or person who changed the way you thought or lived.

4. Describe a time you overcame rejection or fear.

5. How has your community shaped you as a person?

Job Applications

More and more job applications include personal statement sections or questions that ask you to describe your professional experience in more detail. Job seekers are often used to listing out bullet points on a resume, so writing about yourself can feel uncomfortable, even in a letter of introduction.

In professional settings and applications, you want to focus on four elements as you write about yourself:

relevant experience
recent professional accomplishments
personal details that enhance your qualifications
specializations

Again, keep your purpose and audience in mind. If you're having trouble narrowing down your relevant experience, consider looking at the job listing to see what they require of applicants. That way, you tailor your experience to what the position requires.

Some common job application prompts

1. Tell us about yourself. (They aren't asking about your favorite food or vacation last year! Focus on professional experiences.)

2. What are your strengths and weaknesses?

3. How have you managed conflict in former roles?

4. Describe your strongest professional accomplishments.

5. Why do you want to work here?

Remember, each of these questions is designed to help a company get to know you as a professional—share only relevant stories and details that align with that purpose.

Author or Speaker Biographies

As a writer (or speaker!), you need an author biography to include on any publications. These can be short 100 word statements that give the audience a sense of who you are as a person.

Again, the purpose and audience matters. If you are a scholar writing and speaking on a topic in your academic field, it's appropriate to list your relevant degrees and major publications to build a sense of credibility and authority.

If you're a fiction author, your biography will likely reflect a few personal details that are meant to connect with readers in a positive light.

The best way to know what will connect with your intended audience, is to look at the biographies and About the Author pages in books like your own.

A few things you might include in an author or speaker biography:

where you live (generally speaking—not your personal address)
themes you explore
awards, recognition, or other publications
relevant personal background info

You can see our full guide here on writing an author biography here .

Prompts for author or speaker biographies

1. What are the two most important things for your audience to know about you?

2. Find two authors writing in the same genre you are. Write your biography using their bios as models.

3. What themes do you explore in your work and why are they important to you? Write them out, and then condense.

4. What experience or awards are relevant to your work? List them out and pick the top two.

5. Make a list of all the things that you likely have in common with your target audience. Choose two to include in your biography.

How to Write About Yourself

Whenever you're asked to write about yourself, take it as a challenge to share relevant personal experiences with vivid details and your unique point of view. Remember that you're not sharing your entire life story. Stick to short personal anecdotes and pay attention to your purpose and audience.

How do you feel about writing about yourself? What tips have made it easier? Share in the comments.

Choose one of the prompts above. Set the timer for 15 minutes and write about yourself without stopping. If you don't have an essay, job app, or bio to write, then simply try to capture something true about yourself and your experience in the world today.

When time is up, share your practice in the Pro Practice Workshop here and leave feedback to encourage a few other writers too.

Joe Bunting

Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris , a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).

Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.

Sue Weems is a writer, teacher, and traveler with an advanced degree in (mostly fictional) revenge. When she’s not rationalizing her love for parentheses (and dramatic asides), she follows a sailor around the globe with their four children, two dogs, and an impossibly tall stack of books to read. You can read more of her writing tips on her website .

Work with Joe Bunting?

WSJ Bestselling author, founder of The Write Practice, and book coach with 14+ years experience. Joe Bunting specializes in working with Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, How To, Literary Fiction, Memoir, Mystery, Nonfiction, Science Fiction, and Self Help books. Sound like a good fit for you?

199 Comments

This is one of my favorite ways to write 🙂 Except I like to use “you”, as if I am talking to myself and telling myself what I am doing or have already done.

He sits in his office chair, staring at the computer screen. In the cube next to him he can hear the sound of a coworker banging on a loud keyboard. The printer spits out paper after paper, other co workers talk and laugh. “I would never want to be a landlord.” “It’s not so bad.” The light of the mid morning day streams in behind him as he works on his assignments, filling in forms, completing spreadsheets, answering emails. Sometimes he thinks the entire job is all about email management. How did he get to this place, to this life? Simple, small choices add up until years later he finds himself bored and unenthusiastic about where he is. His cell buzzes next to him, notifying him of a text message. He checks it, hoping to see a message from his girlfriend but finds instead a message from his ex-wife. He ignores it. Chatter continues around him, papers turning, the mail delivery guy singing to himself pushing a squeaky cart down the aisles. Time passes under the glow of fluorescent lights and the hum of overhead heaters. The fan on his laptop starts spinning and he places his hand next to the computer to feel the warmth blowing out from it. Simple pleasures. He puts headphones on to drown out the noises and looks at his plan once again. The way out. Hope for a future of freedom and joy, real life, not the feeling of entrapment and stagnant death. It all begins with courage. The courage to face up to the difficult choices ahead, courage to face his fears, courage to be honest and real with himself and those all around him. It starts now.

I learned a long time ago that I am not trapped in any place in my life. I think the truest thing you said was to be honest and real with yourself. This certainly touched a chord in me.

I continue to learn that lesson. I’m glad the message touched you.

brilliantly inspiring. I don’t know if you meant for that. Like it!

I’ll take it, thanks!

i’m intrigued as to what the details of “his plan” are; like the mystery with which you end your last paragraph.

i might try deleting certain phrases to slim it down. for example, i might get rid of “notifying him of a text message” after “His cell buzzes next to him” and just end the sentence there, since in the next sentence you talk about anticipating a message from a certain someone.

“email management.” i like how it all reminds me of the movie office space but has more depth. thanks for sharing!

Thanks Sara, great feedback!

Josh, I recognized the office. In fact I think I worked there. Good job. I like your last sentance. “It starts now.” If you were writing about a fictional character would he get up and walk out of that office then?

You got it Vicki!

I love how you wrote your piece this morning. It shows your longing to discover who you want to be..

Here’s my attempt at it:

The morning starts as it always does, with the cold seeping into her bones. Although she is under the covers somewhere there is a gap in the covers because the cold invades her dreams. AS she wakes her thoughts begin to race as she wondered where her writing will take her. Which story will she choose and what will she learn about herself from her Characters today.

Because the cold works to sap her energy as she pulls herself from the covers, she sets her feet on the rug. She feels older then she is. Reaching for her robe she works to keep the dreams fresh in her mind so shemay write them on paper before they are lost forever never to resurface again. Until she is away from writing instruments.

With her eyes barely slits she shuffles to the kitchen to start her day. Knowing where everything is she begins the task of making coffee and waits impatiently as it heats. Finally with her cup filled she carefully moves to her desk by the window and takes a seat. Pushing the button that awakes her ‘baby’, she listens for the hum as it awakes ready to take in what her fingers type.

What will her writing revel to her today as she steps one step closer to discovering who she is, for she can only know these secrets when her fingers what no one else will see.

But we want to see the secrets. 🙂 I’m intrigued.

When I finish writing I will share with you, then we’ll both know. *smiles*

Good timing! This is the morning I am having. And having written this, I know what I am going to do.

My practice…

In a moment of utter frustration, she walked away from the computer. The story in her head wouldn’t form; it came out in bits and pieces.

She knew she needed more research but couldn’t find what she wanted. How do you explain a world when your perspective is that of a child? While the world swirled around her, she didn’t take notice. As a child, she didn’t care about things she couldn’t comprehend.

The story’s important. It’s a tale of innocence that was destroyed by events she didn’t understand. The story’s old. Ruth died 46 years ago. The anger at her death is old too but doesn’t seem to lessen. Sometimes, it seems like it happened yesterday. The images of the last day are clear. The sounds and the smells are as fresh now as they were then.

Again, frustration overtook her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to change her perspective to that as an adult. The child in her would not let go. It was easy enough to check dates and events but those were just the things that happened to other people outside her realm. In their small neighborhood, none of the global events affected them. They had been sheltered from the reality of the adult world.

Years later when she was able to piece the events together, she realized what had happened. She was angry all over again. And the child in her took over, raging at the adults who let it happen, who shattered the innocence forever.

“Screw this,” she thought. She sat back down at the computer and started to write. “I am going to write it from the child’s perspective.”

Yay! That’s what I was hoping for!

Throughout your piece I KNOW what you are writing about. The fact you were able to make me feel your pain and frustration, without actually describing the acts that caused them,

I really like your practice, Joe. Here’s mine:

Alicia should be ashamed of herself, but she isn’t. She should be working on her recent assignment but has yet to make it past 16 words, and she still doesn’t hate herself. Instead of getting paid to write, she’s spent the last hour writing about why she loves writing and reading about writing. Does that bother her? No. Should it? Probably.

Alicia normally has a full cup of self-discipline, but with the end of the semester approaching, she just wants a break, and it can’t get here soon enough. So she finds comfort on her couch, crosses her legs, and types whatever comes to mind through her fingers. She lets the writing consume her, take it where she needs to go, until she can muster up the energy to begin her assignment.

But the day is still young, and it’s quiet in the living room, with just the soft sound of running water in the fish tanks to calm her nerves. And while Alicia’s been stressing all week over her endless to-do list, she’s calm now because she gets to write about what she loves and learn how to improve her talents.

Alicia glances at the clock, and her heart flutters with annoyance. She had planned to finish her assignment before heading back to class, and now she only has an hour to research and write 675 words to meet this goal. She narrows her eyes. Will she be able to do it? Or will part of the article have to wait for later? She exits out of the extra tabs on her browser, even the pages she has yet to read, and prepares to settle down and get to the writing she should actually be doing.

Love that “the writing consumes her” and the “water in the fish tanks calm her nerves”. She “writes about what she loves”….the best reason to write!

Thanks for the feedback. I wasn’t actually sure how I did since I was in a rush.

She had been up for two hours and only after making picky- eating- nutritionally- acceptable breakfasts, appetizing yet balanced lunch boxes with the right sized plastic containers to fit every corner of the bento boxes, looking for toys, crazy loom bracelets, socks, shoes, super hero shirts, underpants and sweatshirts, negotiating every minute of TV watching and making up games to get everyone off to school on time, only then, she was able to finally sit and be herself. It took making sure that the 4th grader had the confidence to ask classmates to come to his birthday, even though they “think I’m weird” and that the 3 year old could look forward to playing with preschool toys instead of swords and handle being away from his mommy for at least four hours straight. It took giving more than what she had, setting aside her needs, her feelings, her frustration, her anger, her timing, her opinions, her natural inclination to wake up slowly into the world, to induce her children into a hostile world that had to contain them while she could become a person again. A person who had to reconstruct herself everyday at 9 am; reviving memories, making sense of goals and lost dreams, making sure she retained the spark in between errands and chimerical schemes.

[whew]. i feel like i got caught in the whirlwind with you.

Love all of it, but especially the lines, “It took giving more than what she had, setting aside her needs, her feelings, her frustration, her anger, her timing, her opinions, her natural inclination to wake up slowly into the world, to induce her children into a hostile world that had to contain them while she could become a person again. A person who had to reconstruct herself everyday at 9 am; reviving memories, making sense of goals and lost dreams” … you have captured many moms’ gut-wrenching feelings, and done us proud!

Been there, done that. I’m right with you on this. It is but a thumbnail sketch of a mother’s morning.

Ditto. My kids are grown, but you took me back. And your last sentence is spot on, with or without kids underfoot.

Her days are filled with projects and a certain urgency to life, a hurry to complete goals before time floats away. Her head is full of stories, imaginary and fully lived. A favorite time of day is retiring to the small office, just off the kitchen, where she writes. One wall of the office features an oil painting by her sister of a mountain scene, another photo depicts the Appalachian mountains with low clouds floating like angels across the peaks. A small window allows a glimpse of sky, a few leaves tumbling out of the roof gutter and the imprint of a dizzy bird which hit the window. Stories spill out of her mind as fast as she can type, with hesitation just long enough to find the right words to transfer an image to paper. The urgency is there: don’t let the memory fade, the precious moment escape before sharing it. Her heart is overwhelmed with gratitude for life itself. Sticky notes surround her desk: a reminder to read a new book, a list of stories to be included in a collection, several titles for her book, a reminder to run a backup disk of all her writing. Every week she reads books to elementary school children, pouring out her love of written words to children dominated by TV and the Xbox. Others her age have passed on to a different life. Time is precious. She considers the title for a blog, “Not Done Yet”.

so. i forgot to describe my surroundings. it’s been awhile since i’ve done a prompt! i think the last time was to help me get started on my personal statement, so maybe this one will rev me up again for the final onslaught/phases of my applications. thanks, joe. now i have to resist the temptation to revise this instead of working on apps. 😛

————————-

Desperate times calls for desperate measures, she thought as she clicked “Deactivate” on the screen. This might’ve been a good weekend to hole up in a cabin, somewhere in the Hudson Valley, maybe. But with what money? She’s trying her best to resist the plastic precious in her wallet.

She’s also trying her best to focus on the many tasks at hand. Revise her resume for one school. Send a Hail Mary email to a professor for a letter of recommendation. Write about how she would add diversity — convincingly, too; debunk the notion that there are enough Asian females in law school, and in law in general.

She also wants to do the right thing. Her heart has entered yet another spin cycle of “Does he like me like me?” She’s not tired of being wrong, she’s tired of the uncertainty. She’d rather know if he’s just not that into her — those late night text messages actually don’t count?! — and be put out of her misery.

But it’ll hurt anyway. Is it wrong that she just so happened to connect with someone else that might actually be into her? She thinks there might be something there…

But she still can’t forget how quickly the two of them connected. How they met twice in the span of one day. Who does that?

She clocked in at the library and went to sit down at the library’s little coffee bar. If she she was lucky she would have time to study in between customers… if she was lucky. Her eyes scanned the little library…. it looked like it would be a slow day. Time to study… but would she use it? It seemed forever ago since she had started the semester and now she was almost done… not really done though… school always just seemed to keep on going. Semester after semester…. year after year. “Study,” she told herself, but her mind would not focus. Too much had happened to not just take a moment to think about. Sometimes she wondered if God liked to see her scrambling so she could remember… remember Him. She’d had so many instances to turn her mind to God that week, too many times it felt like… and probably many more times in the future. She sighed. Study.

I can see myself playing this mental/spiritual game too.

She wakes before the clock radio starts muttering. Realizing that she slept through the night makes her giddy. Yes. All right! A full night’s sleep. The Holy Grail. She wakes rested and ready to take on the day, but not quite yet. Husband breathes deeply next to her in the king-size bed she loves. Day has not dawned, but there is enough ambient glow from night lights and electronics to take in the cloud-like expanse of their white comforter. This is her nest, her safe haven. She would be embarrassed to tell anyone how much she loves this retreat, with its cathedral ceiling, extravagant crown molding, paintings and family photos. It is hidden away in a corner of their townhouse that looks like hundreds of neighboring abodes from the exterior. And yet, even though she shares it, she coverts time alone here to read, to write. to muse.

Love this…can relate (except the husband part) … laughed out loud re: “She would be embarrassed to tell anyone how much she loves this retreat, with its cathedral ceiling, extravagant crown molding, paintings and family photos.” Men are not the only ones who have their caves! Your retreat sounds so cozy and I share your love for having my own comfy hideaway, my respite from a sometimes chaotic outside world!

Tami, I hadn’t thought of my retreat as the equivalent of a man cave. That made me smile and nod.

She might have been embarrassed to share how much she enjoys her retreat, but I’m glad she did. Loved that thought. And knowing people who struggle hoping to get a good night’s sleep, I understand giddy. I liked your piece.

Anne, Thanks for affirming that what I was feeling came across.

I empathize with the feeling of not wanting to move from your space, to actually enjoy what you’ve bought, cleaned, and decorated.

Thank you, Susan. It feels so good to know that my words connected with you.

She would always hide in the corner, and curse quietly in a funny little accent she wouldn’t dare identify if you remembered her name. She’s usually silent, invisible, and overly polite, but once you got her to start talking there was no end to her rapid fire run-on sentences, stretched analogies, and skewed logic, peppered with random facts acquired from a long reading history or else personal experience. Sometimes people gather around her and just listen, if they can follow, and it’s the only time they see her at all–when she’s rambling incessantly. She gets weird looks from everyone around her and it’s one of the only things in the entire world that make her smile. Ah yes! The humans think she’s an oddling! Cue the fanfare.

She’s willing to talk about almost anything, but sometimes certain things come up and she quiets right back down and doesn’t say another word for hours. Did you hear about that celebrity that just got diagnosed with cancer? How about that girl who killed herself? The dude caught dealing drugs and killed a cop? And what about that serial rapist they just caught?

If you looked closer, you might see the way she trembles. You might guess what sinister reminders it brought.

But she’s not talking, and nobody sees her when she isn’t talking.

I’m not sure why this doesn’t have more comments, because you’re certainly not silent in your writing.

Beautiful, beautiful! I can identify with her, silent and invisible, until she speaks, and people listen because her words are rare, precious and unique!

She lays back in the chair, hair still damp, her skin glistening. The smell of coconut oil conjures up tropical beaches and swaying palms; a strong contrast to the snow covered view through the window. As her eyes open, grey as the sky, she thinks of tomorrow. A fresh pot of coffee, followed by a quick pick up, and since the heavy chores are done the day will unfold as she chooses. She anticipates choosing to think about things that have not yet been thought. She anticipates the time to remember things that deserve remembering, and maybe some that do not. Perhaps since she’s been ‘good’ she can start now. After all, she can’t see the clock from where she sits so time is not really passing. It is better, she thinks, to measure time by what gets finished- a thought, a smile, a loaf of bread, a good book.

Very nice mood, here. I can totally picture it.

Thank you, Susan. Maybe now that the mood is down on paper, I can conjure it up on demand 😉

You’re welcome. I love writing that evokes (invokes?) mood.

Evoke vs Invoke- Initially evoke worked for me, the idea that the writing “calls up” a mood. But then your choice had me googling- and I like that invoke suggests an active calling, maybe even with incantations. And I see that I posted more than once in response to your initial comment….time for that second pot of coffee!

I’ll join you for coffee.

Thank you Susan. I liked hearing that you can picture the mood.

“After all, she can’t see the clock from where she sits so time is not really passing.” What a great line! An inner thought that probably all of us have felt, but never quite put into words. Thank you for sharing.

Thank you. This is my first prompt exercise and it is lovely to get feedback. I had recently had a conversation with a friend about the bane of electronics and clocks in our lives so I suppose that this thought has been brewing for a while. When I saw the 15 minute limit for the prompt, I ‘promptly’ turned away from the clock and so…..

What about the numbers that rule our lives?

Well, only if we let them….but truly, people impart a magic to the ‘right number’. Just look at how the media uses numbers: the TEN best, SEVEN most……

I was thinking of our numbers for social securiy, bank accounts, cellphones, passports, vehicle registrations, etc. Must admit they bring a sort of order to everything.

very nice description of your thoughts, feels like a calm mind

Thank you. I think that writing brings me calmness.

Those are wonderful measuring tools. Enjoyed this peaceful peace. Wondered if she was drinking a cup of tea as she sat there. Nice.

Thanks. And no, she was not drinking a cuppa. But the pot was set to boil.

Very simple, but very effective. I love her thoughts on time- just passing thoughts, but important all the same

“It is better, she thinks, to measure time by what gets finished- a thought, a smile, a loaf of bread, a good book.” I really loved this. The true value of time is found in the things that make it special.

13:23 to 13:38 She prefers numbers to words. The numbers maintain their meaning whether she says them or someone else tells them to her. She’s sitting outside this afternoon, warming in the sun, thawed out for the first time today. The sofa faces the garden, downhill and she sifts through the chores in her mind, the only way she knows how to avoid getting up, finding her garden gloves and walking down and through the gate to get dirty. But today she has limited time, a to do list perched on her desk reminding her to stay on task. Lunch has been eaten, dishes cleared away. It was bean soup, the same thing she’ll have for dinner tonight and the same thing she’ll have for lunch again tomorrow. She would be happy as a dog, eating the same food every day. She read and wrote on her lunch break instead of rushing back inside to sit at her desk and finish the lingering items. What was the use? There would never be a day without a long list if to do items. She abandoned her desk every day at lunch. She demanded outdoor sunshine, the smell of dirt and the sounds of birds and bugs, of leaves skittering across the pavement. The same wind that scattered the leaves made the chimes release their music. Planes roared over head at thirty thousand feet. The numbers would call her back soon enough. She’d arrange and rearrange them and send them off in different forms to different departments. She didn’t believe for a minute that anyone read or analyzed her numbers but since she was paid to do it, she worked the spreadsheets and calculator. One day she’d total everything up in a today package and start using words. A backlog was developing and she knew that one day they would have to come spilling out across pages and pages and books and books. The End

Yes, one day the words would have to come out. They can’t be jammed in there forever. I liked the wind that scattered the leaves and made the chimes release their music. I also like how she had to choose between numbers and words. Though I have made similar choices, I still prefer the words. They dance.

Numbers…the universal language…

I felt a bit wistful (on her behalf) reading this.

The Yahoo Mail waiting symbol chugged slowly in a circle as it pulled messages from who knows where. He wasn’t too worried or impatient, though. It had only been a couple days, and he was sure there wouldn’t be a response yet. Even if there were, he was prepared.

99.5 percent of new authors are rejected, he’d told himself a thousand times. And he believed it.

On top of that, he wasn’t crazy about his query letter. And, after reading his manuscript a hundred times over, he’d decided there were parts he positively hated. But this was a crucial step. Unlike all those other times in his life, he was saying, “Fuck you” to fear. It felt nice, and was especially easy this time, because he knew exactly what would happen. In fact, he was downright excited to get that first rejection.

I’m putting myself out there.

Smiling to himself, he clicked the “Check e-mail” button for the hundredth time that week.

This time, a new message appeared, and he gasped after reading the familiar e-mail address.

This was it. And he was ready. More than ready; this wasn’t even one of his favorite agents. He had decided to submit to a couple ‘middle of the pack’ agents, first. That way, he could hone, as needed, for the big dogs.

Not even bothering to take a breath, he clicked the e-mail and its contents flashed on the screen.

Dear author:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah Rejected blah blah blah blah.

Sincerely, Agent

He stared at the screen, wide-eyed. There it was, exactly as he had expected. And, exactly as expected, he tried to grin and nod to himself.

But something different happened.

For some reason, his neck faltered and his head hung like a corpse.

Then, before he could stop himself, he’d lowered himself to the desk. The second his forehead touched the cool metal, his eyes overflowed, and he choked a sob into his keyboard.

This is such a great portrayal! Though I haven’t gotten that brave yet, I can see myself acting and reacting just the way this guy does, even after he’s steeled himself for rejection!

Thanks!! This actually happened *today* :/ It’s a little exaggerated but the wash of emotions was definitely accurate. Oh well, it will get easier! And if I can be that brave (although I wouldn’t call it that, lol), anyone can.

He should just remind himself how many times some bestsellers were rejected. They say you don’t finish a novel, you abandon it. We’re always learning. Right till the moment when we write our last words and curl our toes.

Just a hint of light was showing through the datk navy roman shades. The three cats were already restless, anxious to be fed. Ghost, the smallest of the three, curled up next to her right ear purring loudly. Brother began to paw at her feet, nibbling on her toes. The third cat, pounced onto the bed, and curled himself onto her belly.

Pulling the covers over her head, she moaned. “I’m not ready to get up yet guys. Go away.” Flexing her right shoulder, she dislodged Ghost and rolled onto her left side. The cats, sensing her mood, quickly.vacated the bed.

Like a blow, the large empty space in her bed confronted her. This was where her husband should be. Instead, on the nightstand next to his spot sat a black box. It contained all that was left of the man she had loved for thirty.seven years. Seeing the box always caused her to sob. Crying was better than not having something of him with her. She reached over and touched the box. “I love you sweetheart.”

Slowly she swung her legs out of bed and sat up on the edge. The room around her was cluttered, dirty, and disorganized. She sighed and heaved herself slowly up, holding to the edge of the bed for balance. Already her back ached and hard pain shot down her left leg. As she reached for.her mefication bag her shoulder screamed, “time for.a pain pill.” Hastily.she swallowed a handful of meds. In thirty minutes she would feel better.

The boys were now milling around her feet, begging to be fed. First she bent and scooped the nights gifts from the litter box. Then, she filled thier bowl with dry food topped with a can of tuna. With her furry children content, she finally turned to her laptop.

Now was her time, in the quiet morning hours, to put words on a blank page. This was what kept her getting out of bed each day. This was the gift she gave herself, permission to create.

I like the “nights gifts from the litter box”.

She’s surrounded by her favorite entity – words. A long bookshelf mostly contaning classics, hangs overhead, winding the wall. Small hands with slim fingers type on the laptop placed on her lap. Though the room is dim, christmas lights hang around the window, cast a festive glow. The black coated corgi keeps her company, laying at her feet and occasionally popping up for a pet. The girl, for she is not fully a woman, bites her pink lips and runs her hands along her auburn hair when stuck for ideas. As she writes away in her second book, thoughts of doubt begin to creep in. For a minute, her hands stall and the fire drains from her green eyes when she listens to the lies. Is it worth it? Who would read it anyway? Success has been slim thus far, why would this book bring a different fortune? With a sigh she glances at the books behind her. Some of them are so tattered that the binding is becoming undone, so often has it been read. Very few of them are from this century and as she ponders why, she turns to her work again, mindful of her passion. She MUST write this story for the love of good literature, wholesome stories and beautiful writing. Though in many ways, she knows she lacks necessary experience, that is why she must write all the more. So that perhaps one day, she can contribute to the world that has helped her so, if not just to say thank you.

I love this picture! The Christmas lights around the window, the black corgi for company, shelves of old books for inspiration, small hands on the laptop. I’m a bit confused by listening “to the lies”? Maybe you could expand on that a little? Very touched by “she can contribute to the world that has helped her, if not just to say thank you.” Thanks for sharing.

I really identify with the “lies”, for that’s what many of our self-doubts are. Also the good books on the wall, I share that affinity, and very few of mine are from this century either! And writing as a thank-you to the world is a beautiful idea. Good work!

Thank you! I’m glad I’m not the only one 🙂

Isn’t that how it is for us writers? To be compelled to keep on writing, not knowing how successful we will be. We owe it to the craft itself, to write, not just to be published, but to become better. Good empathy.

As if swimming were not lonely enough, she ventures off to the beach for an open water swim. All by her lonesome. She and her sisters coined this part of the shore, “Lonely Beach.” It was where they went when they didn’t feel like being social or seen.

She waded in on a Sunday afternoon—the sky shrouded in gray humidity. Sharing the sand with an old lady walking a dog and a hippy wielding a metal detector, she sighed. Within the sigh she asked herself a question and then answered it. “Why do I do this? …You’re paddling the extra lap.”

She stood staring at her feet as the water washed over, their prints seeming like primitive clay monster feet. She crossed her arms, hugging each elbow in a palm. Her hair blew across her nose, causing it to itch. She paused to watch the guy deliberate over the metal detector. To her, it was an odd way to spend an afternoon.

Yes, she was stalling. There is a certain amount of psychological readying to taking the plunge. She bolstered herself, silently.

“You’re here.”

“You might as well get started.”

She thought that may be she was a lonely soul, an old soul. She craned her head over a shoulder to look at a vacant lifeguard stand, imagining a chiseled sun bleached body, shading his eye contact in Ray-Bans. The sign read, No Lifeguard—Swim At Own Risk. She was swimming, at her own risk.

I like the lonely feeling of the place, that certain stretch of beach, and the sense of looming risk that she stalls from facing. Her response to the sign — swimming, at her own risk — sounds like it could be a theme in the story. Good practice!

Thanks John. Yes, you nailed it. The theme for a story that is…

Hope this develops into a short story (.meant as one of the highest compliments) … want to hear more…want to know where this goes!

Thank you, Tami. I kind of cheated. This is part of a larger piece I’ve been working on for years. It was not an impromptu writing effort.

I was able to step into the image and the feelings you impart in the paragraph describing her staring at her feet, hugging her elbow,etc. Thank you.

Thanks JC. Again, writing can be so creatively charging!

Loved the primitive clay monster feet. I got to experience those when I went to Michigan with my daughter so you gave me a chance to revisit. And I almost felt like I had to brush the sand off my feet even now. Thanks for your piece. And stalling. I know stalling.

I liked how that came out too, Anne. Isn’t it great fun to create something out of the blue? Wouldn’t know it was there if I hadn’t started typing. And the word, ‘stalling’, I had to use that. It is a strong verb.

Mister Computer says it’s 34 degrees Fahrenheit. The rain hasn’t started yet; they’re saying it could be worse than at the 2011 Superbowl. If it sleets/snows, the office will be closed and he won’t have to go and repeat yesterday’s terrifying wrestling-match: answering calls, first-day panic, taking questions he didn’t know the answers to yet — he answered phones for the gubm’t for nine years through sheer force of will, Before. Does he have it in him to do it again? He kinda hopes it snows.

He remembers how much fun it was this morning helping with the produce at Seniors, wrestling three dozen frozen turkeys into an upright position so his partner could slip a wal-mart bag over it. He broke a sweat, he’d have you know. It’s good to work for your dinner.

It’s gonna be a tight couple of weeks due to car registration, high heat bill, just too much dang month left at the end of the money. But that sackful of food from this morning is gonna help a whole lot. He’ll make it. He always makes it.

He’s just a little less self-confident at the moment, with the new job, new people to deal with, and the memory of backing into that man’s pickup in the bank parking-lot Monday morning isn’t helping. He keeps worrying at it in his mind. His fault. Insurance likely to go up. Is he losing his edge? Should he give up the car and start riding the bus? Did it for five years in the ‘nineties, and has less problem with the idea than some would.

He’ll never get too old to make a mistake. And he’ll never escape change.

Definitely a man aging back and forth. I like the word picture you use in the first paragraph of the office zone being like a wrestling mat. I also like the line about too much dang month at the end of the money.

Aging back and forth, yeah, exactly, I like that! Age coming on, but the youth hasn’t left the building. Thank you!

Agreed, I loved the line “too much dang month…”. I actually did a double-take when I read it, thinking “huh?” Then it hit me and I smiled (maybe a little jealously 🙂

It’s amazing how self-doubt creeps in with age. That’s when you start taking a hard look at the person you’ve lived with all the years.

Yes, taking a hard look at that person — and still choosing to accept him/her! Self-doubt is a temporary state of affairs.

I can’t explain it, but I love the line (and the feeling that goes along with it), “He’ll never get too old to make a mistake”.

Today the flame went out. It had been slowly dying for quite some time. Flickering, waning… But always still there.

Today it gave up. It no longer had wind, wood nor heat. Today the fire died.

The wind should have come on the wings of laughter,

From whispered words of love, kindness and affirmation. From the sheer joy of knowing they had been SO blessed. But even then, Wind is not enough.

The wood should have been there too. It used to be. It was determination, commitment to their future together. Fuel is necessary, and it must come from

A renewable source, Unconditional and full of promise. They must have stopped gathering wood together.

The heat is gone too. Flames would sometimes rise, showing promise of the Once familiar fire… Sometimes it was all-consuming, Sometimes warm and comfortable. Now, it is neither. There is no wind, no wood, no heat.

He had big dreams, but she doesn’t know what they were. He didn’t share them with her. She’s not even sure he could because maybe He didn’t even know what they were himself.

She had dreams too…everybody does, right? Not lofty dreams, but good dreams still. And her dreams included him. What she thought they had together, Yesterday, today, and all her tomorrows.

She doesn’t know which happened first. Did the flame go out and she awakened from the cold? Or did she just become cold, And watch the flames die? All she knows is, today the flame went out. Today, the fire died.

Tami, This is so poignant. I want to mourn for what they have lost because they stopped trying and didn’t share their dreams and hopes.

Thank you, Marilyn. I realize it didn’t really follow the prompt directions, but sometimes, it’s just what comes out, ya know? Thanks for sharing.

I like the element of fire showing a relational climate. It was pleasant to follow your prose with the way you formed your lines, like a poem.

Thank you, Susan, for sharing your observation. It did, indeed, evolve into more of a poetry format, though not intentionally. I often write long hand — maybe how I process things — and I decided to use the same format when posting.here.

This grabbed me, a very interesting and well done way to describe a relationship and how it flickered away.

Tami, Great piece. Sadly it captures what my brother is going through. His plans included her. Hers did not. He’s hurting because the fire died. Also it reminded me of a song my son’s group just released. His words and yours run parallel. Enjoyed this.

She sits there, staring numbly into the computer screen of a random website. Noises of her father and brother are behind her along with their laughter and christmas music. But she just stares, thinking of her life, how she is beginning to see things differently. She thinks of the morning of school today, waiting for the bell to ring as her childhood friends laugh and just goof off but she just couldn’t bring herself to laugh. She yawned and just looked to her left, passed her closes friend’s face. Should she feel guilty that once she sees another friend she only known from her early years at the school she begins to laugh and enjoy herself? She questions herself in front of the computer screen. She blinks…then her mind travels to another problem:her dream. Her dream of writing short stories. She has good ideas and her mind won’t shut up but of course right when she grab that dreadful pen her mind suddenly zips up and her ideas hitch a train for nowhere. And that train would be reality.

The alarm rings, and she presses the snooze button every ten minutes for the next half hour. It’s early, way too early, but she finally gets up at 5:30 to the sound of classical music. Her chocolate lab watches as she rises, and she could hear his tail thumping against his mat. Adorable. By the time she goes downstairs, the coffee has already perked; its wafting aroma stimulating her senses.

By the time her husband comes down, the breakfast table is set, and they share the first morning brew along with some conversation. Once he’s out the door, things quiet down once again. Her mind wanders as she does the morning dishes., but as usual, it focuses on her afternoon down time because once the chores have been completed, she ensconces herself in her nook and writes. Once her imagination is liberated, it’s the highest kite she can fly…

The highest kite she can fly. Love it. I also loved the tone of your piece. It just quietly unfolded. And how nice to come down to a table set. I felt as if I were peeking in to see it all. Love the tone.

Thanks, Anne. That’s about how it unfolds.

Writing as the antithesis to chore. Love it!

Yes, JC, “antithesis” is an excellent word to describe what writing is to me as compared to other things. Thanks.

He could have taken the car to work. But that meant sitting in traffic, and a hefty slice out of your savings for the parking. After all, his retirement, or call it by its real name, retrenchment, loomed. At his age he’d never find anything. He sits on the upper deck, among all the youngsters. Not for the company, but for the view. From there he can see into people’s houses, how they scramble around to be in time at the office. He tried sitting downstairs once, but it wasn’t the same. He was lower than them; it felt as if they were watching him. So he went back upstairs among those boisterous youngsters, who spoke about which club they’d been to the previous night, and other mindless things. Energy is wasted on the young, he often thought. Rather give it to us adults, who’ve had a lifetime learning to put it to good use. On the way back there’d be those drunkards heading for that rough working class neighbourhood on the route He later found that if he buried his nose in a book they left him alone. And the noise faded into the background as the youngsters excluded him from their sphere of attention. Now that his pension days were around the corner he’d like to turn the clock back and do things he should have done. And undo those things he shouldn’t have. He’d spent his life as a passenger, becoming part of what went on around him by being a spectator.

And now it’s time to pull out all those treasures you’ve been storing up through all those years of spectating, sort them out, categorize them, and share them with the world. No time for retirement! You have work to do! I agree, energy is wasted on the young. Those of us with things to tell need the energy to do it!

Thanks for the advice.

The room is small, cozy. The air is still, having not yet been disturbed by the travels of the people still sleeping in the darkness. Looking out the window he sees the trees reaching up towards the grayish sky waiting for the rain as a young boy would be as he watches a ball falling toward him, anticipating catching it. His back is achy despite a few hours of rest. These 15 minutes of tapping on the keyboard a pleasant new exercise, for his brain if not his body. Despite the quiet of the day, the current task at hand, the single light on in the darkened house illuminating his desk he is struggling to keep his mind on the task at hand. So much work ahead of him in the next 12 or 14 hours. Shortly he will get up from this silent moment and awaken the day. Start the rushing process of making sure she is ready for the bus. A lunch to make, to approve of an outfit, breakfast to prepare, dressed warm enough for the day, the hair!, the hair is always the delay, even at a young age of 11. He marvels at how hair is a concern everyday for him despite him losing his 15 years ago. The anticipation of the craziness that is about to begin has his mind racing already, a warm cup of coffee adding to the adrenaline rush starting to kick in. He glances at the clock, 2 minutes and this quiet day will kick into overdrive very quickly. Off to the races, time to put the silence back to bed for another 24 hours.

I like that your writing cocooned you with silence at the start of the day.

She sits in the quiet. The darkness still surrounds her but she knows in time the darkness will give way to light. It always does. Oh sure, sometimes it takes its sweet time like when the cold embraces us. Days like today.

She pecks away at the keys watching stories slip out of her head. Wondering all the time how they got in there and then she remembers. She used to run to stories when life was hard, when life was scary. She ran to stories a lot.

And now she does what she has to do again. She waits. She waits to see if the test results are good for her brother. She waits to hear that the procedure went well. She waits to breathe again.

She can’t afford to lose any more people she argues. But she knows that she knows nothing compared to the one who holds the keys to life and death. She knows, but still she argues. It’s the one thing she can do. The only thing she can do.

And yet, there is this place inside her. This room that she goes to when she’s afraid. She sits there waiting and knows He will show up. And she won’t be alone. He always comes. He always sits with her when she’s afraid. Always.

He was there when she stood at her mother’s coffin at 16. There as she said goodbye to her father at 24. She was there as she revisited the cemetery again and again. Too many times to count and yet she does.

It’s easier to count the remainder. Two. There are just two left. There were five of us siblings and then Peggy was gone. Domestic violence. Brutal thief. But years in between another huge loss. And those years got her used to living. Well, kind of.

Then she saw cancer rip away one brother. Watched as it took his health day by day. Had to remind him he was dying when he’d say, “Get my coat, let’s go home.” And later he’s say, “Oh yeah, we ARE home.”

And then there was February when she sat in a hospital bed with anxiety. Something new that keeps pestering her life. Something that causes her blood pressure to spike when should flow steadily. Yes anxiety had visited her. Intruded and refused to leave.

Anxious about her one brother getting a heart procedure. Unaware another brother clutched his heart and died.

Two. There are just two of them left. And while she tries not to think about it, that thought bullies its way in her mind and pushes out all the other thoughts. No thoughts like to be bullied.

She sits quietly and as she suspected she senses His presence. And hears His voice remind her she is not alone. He’s right there beside her. Just as He promised He’d be. And He never broke one of His promises. Not one.

Anne, this line caught me: ‘She can’t afford to lose any more people she argues,’ yet not in the way that I think you intended. I guess I put myself in her place. I mentally added the word, ‘with’ at the end of that line. As if the people, or God himself, being the ones we argue, love, and struggle with are the ones who cost us the most. They are the ones that we stand to lose the most of ourselves. Like a part of us dies with each one.

I should have put a comma after the word “people.” She is arguing with God.

I wasn’t correcting you. I got what you were saying, I just liked the twist of arguing with everyone, including God and self. hugs…

Sorry, Susan. I didn’t mean for it to sound abrupt. I was actually angry at myself for not putting in the correct punctuation. I also like the twist of arguing with everyone. Thanks.

Anne, You introduced us to a lifetime of grief and loss so great that it could rip your soul apart.

And except for the fact God was in it, you’re right. And do you know what he brought out of it? Poetry.

Thank goodness that you have experienced Him — so much love !

Joe, Loved your piece. There were so many things about it that made it alive. Loved the continual thankfulness that just had to ooze out of you. Absolutely loved how you ended your piece. The piece just flowed so evenly. Actually inspired me to even sit down and take part.

Thanks Anne. 🙂

So, here he sat again in front of the screen. Open the last page of his book. Words appearing in succession, staining the whiteness with characters burping from the brain.

For some time now he was aphasic to open it, almost scared. He might have turned on, to check emails and to play solitaire, but even that reluctantly. Many, some several months old, particularly those related with writing were loitering in the list of unopened mail. There was no reason for it.

A slap of life had smashed all desires to write.

I have to commence writing again. Now! And in the same sentence: Why write? It will not contribute to be alive. Arg! Too damn trumpery and useless! Thought of impotence heaped his mind. Had a bad mood, even snappy. It took awhile for him to grind down the disappointment and in the end accept he had to live a life whatever the circumstances. The end will come soon enough.

Some days ago, he started again reading the book with an earmarked leaf, which was lying around for a while. That night, he couldn’t sleep, and for him, reading was the best somniferous. Soon, ideas invaded the spirit, and he made notes, searched words, concentrated in modisms. That night and many after, he did not sleep enough.

Bad habits were kicking in again.

But there was a difference. He realised, just today, a big difference. Before, when his wife asked what he was doing, the answer had been: Working! Nowadays he says, Writing!

What a difference a misfortune makes!

Misfortune? Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? He remembered the old Chinese saying.

The energy is back with vigour. Carelessly ignoring the numbness his backside and the urge of nature. Barely walking to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He has to prepare it. It takes too long. Better, some water, he decides and is back to the frantic clicking on the keyboard in one corner of his bedroom. The music plays away. It’s cold. His heart has, though, been warm and palpitating to the rhythm of the script.

Hey! Of that, life is all about!

I love what you wrote….a bit of mischief is getting ready to happen, I think…..

Here is what I wrote for 15 minutes:

She sits at the desk in front of the laptop almost everyday. But nothing comes to her mind. There is too much going on around her – even the dog and cat prevent her concentrating on what she needs to say – what she must say. There is a story inside her somewhere. But she has no time to dwell on its location, to find out where in the body or mind such a story could be. She is a writer. She has always been a writer, even if she rarely puts pen to paper. She has been a writer since she was very young, sitting on the back porch on a hot summer day with nothing but chores to do.

She used to wonder about eternity. The concept of eternity was troubling her when she was only eight or nine years old. Sitting on that back porch in the heat of the summer in Dallas, wondering about eternity. She would imagine the world never, ever ending, like the nuns told her classmates and her, but somehow she could not get a true connection. What would eternity look like, she wondered, forgetting that she was only in the third grade…what could it be like?

Well, it had to be better than just sitting on the back porch, waiting for her mom or dad to come yell at her for not doing anything. They had small patience for little girls, especially for her, since she was the eldest girl in the family and should be helping her mother to care for the younger kids. Man, what a life for a kid! But that is what an adult would have thought, had an adult been sitting on the porch with her, sharing those eternal thoughts. Kids had not much of a past, so they had little to refer to. Still, she knew that whenever there was not much work to do, the little kids were asleep, and she had finished her homework (funny that she could not remember doing homework, for the most part!), she ought to have a bit of time for herself. Time to swing on the swing set before her dad opened the screen door and hollered for her to get her butt inside and do more work.

Little did she know, however, what lay ahead. And that was definitely a good thing. A damned good thing. Because if she had known even a little bit, she might have found the courage in her heart to take a short cut while walking home from school and end up elsewhere.

Funny because I’m listening to Above and Below, which seems to go along with this.

Where would I find “Above and Below”? I am a newbie here. Thank you for your comments.

It’s by The Bravery and there is a moon version and a sun version. Youtube has both.

The murky shape of a fish torpedoes through her peripheral vision and is swallowed by the clouded lake waters. She cranes her neck in its direction, hair following suit in a dull golden cloud and coming to rest in front of her eyes. Her back arches as she kicks deeper where pressure begins to replace sunlight and the sandy bottom full of discarded clam shells beckons as a silent refuge. Her elbows come to rest against the gritty surface as she releases her air from its chambers, watching it flee to the surface in a shimmering cloud of light. She could beat it if she wanted to; kick up from the bottom and satisfy the dull ache in her chest, but she doesn’t want to. Not yet anyways. She closes her eyes and the water seems to disappear, swaying around her with the same heat which runs in her veins, melting itself against her skin until the two are indistinguishable. She could lie here forever, in her secret, dim world. But it isn’t hers. Her lungs tighten to remind her that hers is up there, into the sun which shines so far away from this place. She jumps off the her throne of sand, rising into the surface.

You must know something about diving. I would not have been able to create this scenario without having been underwater myself. Good job !

Thank you, It’s one of my favorite pastimes and I bought my first monofin last summer.

She wakes reluctantly, feeling him stir by her side. The familiar feeling of heaviness returns as the reality of their life now seeps into her consciousness through the last wisps of sleep. Further rest will elude her now. Should she get up and try to use the time when he is asleep to do some writing? She is bone tired, but she knows there will be little chance for time alone later in the day. She turns to watch him sleeping and thinks of other Saturdays when he would be first to wake, always active, vital. Perhaps after some leisurely lovemaking he would return to her with a cup of tea and her favourite – hot buttered toast with marmalade. Then off to get the paper, maybe stop for coffee on the way. Now he can’t get out of bed by himself anymore or pee alone. This horrible disease is taking its time to kill him. She watches his dear face, at peace in merciful sleep for a while. She is sad but angry too. Maybe she will get up and write, despite her weariness.

While I have no really experience of what this is like your writing doesn’t use such fancy words that make it seem like a show. Yours seems real, but still showing how you feel underneath the words. I like it.

She stood at her computer, wishing she could feel comfortable in her own body. The room is lit with natural light and her husband is listening to the book Wise Blood on AudioBooks. She needs to jump start her energy, needs to get her blood moving. The calendar tells her it really isn’t good day to do anything, unless it is to work on her own set of personal challenges – releasing her bad habits, for god’s sake.

How does one work on one’s bad habits, she wonders. They are there, the patterns of behaviors. She circles around them and then gives in to nap. It is like earlier this week when her calendar asked her to retrieve her soul. Retrieve her soul? That is a long process, but she tried. She went through every memory she had – sitting on the front porch when scarcely older than a toddler, wondering what is infinity. Come here, little girl, she entreated. She remembered the last time she wet her pants after they stopped letting her wear diapers; squatting under a shrub, being amazed there was no diaper to catch it. Come back to me, she asked. Playing in her sandbox, riding her bike for the first time, climbing a skinny tree to get away from either a small snake or a big worm. Come back to this big empty spot in me, she asked. The memories of her life flooded her and with each memory, she invited herself home. Some of the memories weren’t so good and she hadn’t behaved admirably. She invited that girl back too. Get them all here, retrieve them, she told herself. Before long, all the retrieved people she could ever remember being gathered in her solar plexus and built a bonfire. They raked the coals around. This made her nervous. She wanted to fill that hole, not burn a bigger one. Oh well, all those soul pieces were in charge of this, not her. Just let it happen and she did.

Is she more whole now? More of one cloth? Who knows. There is an ache in her left back side. She feels full, lethargic. What are her bad habits? Is procrastination really that bad or is it her creative process? Certainly eating potato chips, her new vice since quitting gluten, could be something she skipped today.

Her husband stops listening to his story and comes over to the computer and wants to talk about the parade Saturday and had she told her youngest granddaughter they were staying in town, so now they could all go to it. Leave me alone, she finally explodes. Just 15 minutes, that is all I want. 15 minutes to write this exercise. And it is done. He goes away and the 15 minutes are gone.

Sorry for posting so late on this. I loved the exercise! I did it a day late and then my internet was down for an entire day. Finally this morning, I have internet!

She sits, reclined on the couch, trying to escape reality for the umpteenth time that week. Not that it’s been a hard week, or that she doesn’t love her life or anything, she’s actually enjoying life; she just likes to pretend it’s different sometimes. She picks up the book on the table and shimmies down into a position that says, “leave me alone. I’m reading.” A frown crosses her face as she struggles to drown out the sounds of her five younger siblings and piano-playing dad by immersing herself into a different world.

Later she will probably try to drain her emotions through writing, allowing the paper of her beloved notebook to carry some of the burdens weighing on her heart. Typical teenager burdens: love, hate, wonder, and longing. Regret too. And Nostalgia. All of these mixed up feelings trapped inside her will flow out onto the blank pages in inky words that will somehow sooth everything. She’d like to think she was unique, but she has the same problems as every other teenage girl. And then some.

Left to her own mind is much too dangerous these days. It’s a trap that ensnares her at her weakest times when she’s alone. Which is most of the time. There are certain people who help her though, and she’s seen them all this week. The greenish grey eyes of her best friend. The grey ones of her beloved music teacher. These are the people who put a little bit of light into her dark mind and draw her back into reality: the good reality. They keep her safe from the trap her mind has set for itself and remind her that love is a very big part of life. Not being loved necessarily, but loving. Being the one TO love is what matters most and it makes all the difference.

She lays with her knees up, covered in three army surplus wool blankets and an old, yellow stained feather blanket she’d known for years, though it wasn’t hers. Her bed, which takes up most of the room, is on the floor, the bare dirty white walls sometimes remind her of one of those old, padded asylum rooms. The kind that don’t exist anymore. And while that might have once really bothered her, even scared her, it amuses her now.

The room sits in the back half of the “house,” which is actually an old trailer, half of one, where they used to hang the plants to dry. The front half of the house is wooden, with wooden walls and floor and a high ceiling. Behind her, cold air comes up through the cracks between the wall and the chipping lanoleum floor. Last night, she had made a feeble attempt to remedy this with another rolled up wool blanket, but then figured out that a sheepskin did the trick.

It’s her idea of luxury. She’d been sleeping on the floor for years, with intermittent mattresses here and there, but she preferrs the floor. Maybe it’s just that it reminds her of the last place she called home, where they slept on the floor, and ate meals together in a circle around a fire or a woodstove. Where things made sense.

The house is finally quiet. It’s her favorite time, when she doesn’t feel the pull of anyone. Somewhere inside of her, the tug of an impending decision making time. She has no idea where to go from here. This little room, which for some reason she can remember seeing for the first time three years ago, when it was filled with April’s willow baskets and craft making materials, is starting to feel like hers. Even the weather seems to be comforting her here all of a sudden.

Fall in Northern California is strange for her, someone who has never missed a real winter. It’s sunny and warm, and her body kept expecting the change. Something, anything to signal that it was this time of year, and not another. But it never came here, and it felt like she was somehow stuck in time. The wintery slant of the sun was strange in the heat. Finally it changed.

This morning she sat outside on the porch, the sun just barely coming over the horizon but nowhere near her, those huge, intimidating redwoods stood in the east and shaded everything. Her afternoon cigarettes were the time where she could find a tiny patch of sun. this morning the wind howled, and she put on a wool hat and wool shirts and felt the crispness, and imagined brown leaves falling. She had never been so happy for a brisk morning chill. And wind, actual wind, blowing a fall hello. Her body swayed with it as she smoked her cigarette and the smoke didn’t matter. She didn’t want to smoke with all this weather calling .

She needs to get back to that piece, due tomorrow morning. She hears Susan sneeze in the other room, and Chris beside her shifts. They whisper to each other, and then go silent. She hears the hot water heater, and feels at home.

I like the phrase about her room – “where things made sense”.

Her childhood was a happy one, filled with pine forests and pussy willows, shading trees and deep shadows, bright sunlight and fairies. Her mind was a blessed country where music filled the air and magical creatures were waiting with secret smiles around every corner, offering new adventures. A little sister was a ready and willing companion in her exciting fairy world.

As she grew, reality pressed in with dawning dismay. Too late, she discovered that her childhood world had been one of the imagination, and in the business of growing up the door grew narrower until it closed altogether. The only way she could alleviate the anguish was to write – anything and everything.

Her one delight in the agonizing world of puberty became a pure white sheet of paper before her, and a pen poised in readiness. It was only then that her soul could be at ease.

With her teenage years came the realization that she must find an identity for herself, or perish, and that involved searching with every bit of strength she possessed.

The search lasted for many years, tumultuous, exhausting and filled with some bitter sorrows and some unspeakable joys, but the search bore fruit. She discovered who she was at last!

Outside her office window the sun is blazing. The temperature is frigid, below freezing. Her garden appears shocked, the plants struggling to breathe outside of their designated zone. Whoever decides what will thrive through winters in the Pacific Northwest probably didn’t have a day like today in mind.

The sun is a mixed blessing for her. In her chest she wants to run outside, through her arms open wide and hug those rays for the weather forecast indicates the usual gray clouds will return in just a few days. Yet, she looks at her desk. A half-done presentation awaits, due on Monday. Follow-up with a creative team on her new website is tugging at her “let’s play inside” persona. And then there’s the prospect of a trip to Costco to get the wreath, the garland … the overdue beginnings of the whole holiday decoration process. In the next room her husband lingers over the New York Times. They only subscribe to the Sunday edition so she looks forward to that leisurely read every week (and, she just learned, having something to look forward to can increase your personal baseline for happiness).

Happiness, she decides, shows up physically today. Sun rays streaming through the window. A second cup of coffee resting on her desk. The prospect of unpacking the Christmas decorations makes her smile inside. Finding a place for the crystal snowman, the mantletop garland, the collection of German smokers – a yearly ritual that signals the holidays have arrived, along with that endless of to-do’s that never quite get done.

WOW ! I love especially the image of the sun streaming through the windows. And yes, we have the have just the perfect place for each Christmas item, don’t we? I wish I could read more !!

First job on a dark winter morning: tending fire. The fires of evening languish after midnight and leave the big house chilled in this snow country. She is the designated early riser.

She stirs hot ash to wake red coals, then adds wood scraps that in a moment will blossom into flame. Coffee goes on while she waits. Once the fires start up again she adds firewood, small and then larger pieces. When they catch she damps the flow of oxygen back down for a slow burn. The fireplace in the family area is first, followed by the wood stove in the entry way. Family first.

A glance outside the window answers the pivotal question: is it falling, blowing snow today, or are bright snow fields already dimly visible down the hill? Her favorite is dry snow that glitters under the sun. It’s like a field of cool white velvet thickly strew with tiny opal chips.

Maybe this will be that kind of day. Warmly dressed now, she does a few minutes of yoga while the others stir and wake. An hour before dawn, with the sounds of day rising and the first cup of coffee in hand, she sees a small herd of deer cross the field below. They are graceful dark silhouettes in the dusky blue. As a small child she once cried for wild things outside in the snow, at the unfairness of it all, and sometimes she still wonders how they manage. Often, she knows, they don’t. Perhaps that germinal sense of fairness has wandered over time. Perhaps it’s merely been polished by emery grains of experience.

These deer, though, seem lively and inquisitive, at ease in their travels today, unperturbed by human habitation near by. Her kitchen is warm, bright, and yellow, and there’s a day of writing ahead.

Jealous of that morning routine! Maybe I wouldn’t be over time, but it sounds like such a perfect way to ease into the day: a little work to get a fire going. Some exercise. Then recollection.

Thanks, Brett. I’m a little conflicted about it, though. Having read some of the stunning entries here (plus almost all of Glimmer Train Issue #89, which to my mind has kind of a bleak feel) this little practice piece seems “fluffy” in comparison. I’ve taken it aside to give it more than 15 minutes. Notwithstanding my encultured training to convert lemons to lemonade, the hand of a darker angel rests on this character’s shoulder. It deserves observation. These prompts are great practice, but I think practice only works for us to the depth we actually dive.

It’s 5:49am and about 39 minutes behind schedule. My coffee never seems to be as warm as I want it to be. By the time I top it off and sit back down, it feels like it needs to be nuked.

The Bible and journal next to me, open to Isaiah. It’s mostly confusing to me right now, but slowly meaning pops out. My car journal is to my right. It’s a little spiral bound notebook that I keep in the car while I listen to podcasts. Texting and driving is unsafe, but I hope note taking on the center console isn’t. The laptop is open between them.

The lights are off and I’m typing in the dark. This space between 5:30am and 6:00am is tricky in our house. One of my children, were I asleep, would wake and crawl into the big king bed between my wife and me. But since I’m up, he might hear me and come downstairs for some attention.

I’m selfish. At least, I try to be selfish prior to 6:00am, or 6:15 if I play my cards right.

Across the dining room table is a my belt, my t-shirt, a children’s Bible, and a couple spiral notebooks that the kids like to write in. Plush green and white candy canes barely visible, are hanging in the dark underneath the light fixture.

I know the condensation is puddling around my water glass. This is my second day trying to write first. 500 words daily before I do anything else. I should probably get an earlier start and take a walk or do some stretching. It always seems I’m much more inspired after some early exercise. My brain seems to function. I’m using this prompt from deep in my Gmail because the cupboard was bare. And writing as a discipline, apparently, is tough the first couple mornings especially since I don’t have a clear end game. The last thing I want to do is write for work. And I’m not excited to write for my personal blog that centers around living a simpler life. And the blog on the url for my name has been in technical difficulty for over a year.

Consequently, I’m on Evernote practicing.

It’s 5:49am and about 39 minutes behind schedule. His coffee never seems to be as warm as he wants it to be. By the time he tops it off and sits back down, it feels like it needs to be nuked.

To his left is the journal open stacked inside the Bible, also open, opened to Isaiah. That ancient book is mostly confusing to him right now, but slowly meaning pops out. His car journal is to his right. It’s a little spiral bound notebook that he keeps in the car while he listens to podcasts. Texting and driving is unsafe, but he hopes note taking on the center console isn’t. The laptop is open between the two books of records.

The lights are off and he’s typing in the dark. This space between 5:30am and 6:00am is tricky in their house. One of his children, were he asleep, would wake and crawl into the big king bed between his wife and him. But since he’s up, his young son might hear him and come downstairs for some attention.

He’s selfish. At least, he tries to be selfish prior to 6:00am, or 6:15 if he plays his cards right.

Across the dining room table is a his belt, my t-shirt, a children’s Bible, and a couple spiral notebooks that the kids like to write in. Plush green and white candy canes barely visible, are hanging in the dark underneath the light fixture.

He knows the condensation is puddling around his water glass. This is his second day trying to write first. 500 words daily before he does anything else. He should probably get an earlier start and take a walk or do some stretching. He always feels much more inspired after some early exercise. His brain seems to function better. He’s using this prompt from deep in his Gmail because his idea cupboard was bare. And writing as a discipline, apparently, is tough the first couple mornings especially since he doesn’t have a clear endgame. The last thing he wants to do is write for work and his insurance blog. And he’s not excited to write for his blog that centers around living a simpler life. And the blog on the url for his name has been in confounding technical difficulty for over a year, so that’s not an option.

Consequently, he’s on Evernote practicing.

The coffee part was funny. Towards the end you wrote me instead of he. Also I did not like the last paragraph as much of the rest of the story. Maybe there are too many details in it. I’m not sure. The writing overall is good and I can feel the balance between being dutiful to the family and also having a special time to do one’s own work. And the grappling with is it selfish to hope the boy stays asleep a little longer.

He knows the condensation is puddling around his water glass. I think it would be better to say: Condensation is puddling around his glasses. He knows feels like it slows it down to me.

He wants to be a writer. He knows wanting to be a writer is not the same as being a writer. He sits in front of the laptop every morning before the birds have begun singing, before the sense of duty comes alive to distract him. But he always ends up posting, commenting, arguing.. on the facebook, anything to avoid actually writing. His other hobby is reading. He reads everything, with no discrimination. His childhood heroes were not cricket players or action heroes, but writers. While his friends admired Amithabh Bachan and Kapil Dev, he worshipped R K Narayan and Arthur Conan Doyle. In his dreams, he saw himself publishing Sherlock Holmes stories. But he could never convert these dreams to reality.

The moment he cherished most from his childhood was when he won a writing competition inschool. More than the prize itself, what he remembered was the praise he got from a famous writer, a judge for the competition. Yet he could not write.

Recently, he suffered a mental break down. It dawned on him that he wa 40, he had passed the prime of life, perhaps crossed the half way mark. He realized with surprise that he could not recapture time, recreate the past, that he was locked in a day time job that he loathed, that he was also shackled by the sense of duty from which thete may not be any escape.

very moving, and throughout I could sense the struggle and the longing to be formed and changed (thinking of a caterpillar/butterfly) seeing what you know you need to be, but also feeling not there yet. And then the sad realization of not being able to go back in time was a good ending paragraph.

All around her, the air was still. Not just still, but paused, muffled. All the world seemed to be put on mute. It was probably because of the snow outside, padding the roads and the sidewalks with white fluff. She didn’t mind- the quiet was a nice break from the noise and the cluttered mess. She sits beside the window this morning, curled up into a tight ball underneath a patchwork quilt, in a too-large chair. The heater is blowing out warm air besides her, and she can’t help but be a little reassured at the gentle hum of it running. Not that she needed it- her dachshund was curled up in the crook of her legs, acting like the miniature space heater she was. She couldn’t sit there forever, she knew. As she typed, the list of things she needed to do pressed on the front of her mind with continuing urgency, barrating her with a buzz of reminders and loose ends. But a little time for herself couldn’t hurt, could it? A thin strand dangled in front of her eye, and she blew it aside in mock irritation. Maybe this wasn’t the best time for this. Maybe this was just her way of procrastinating while she had real work to be done. That was very probable, and very like her. She knew there were real things to do, things that had to do with nasty words like ‘school’ and ‘chores’, but for the moment she was fine with brushing them off with a flick of her wrist and delving deep into her writing.

good job using the five senses so someone can really feel your environment. That makes it cozy. And even though there is a lot of stuff that the writer knows will have to get done, you could feel how she was still very immersed in her writing, and not getting overly stressed by it.

She sits at a funny little place – too small for a window seat, too large for a windowsill. Her cheeks press against the cool dampness of the glass, her fingers curled into the nails which she had been painting a few hours ago. It was the holidays – she should be relaxing, why was she agitated anyway? There wasn’t any homework assigned anyway. Her family ignore her and her own little ramblings, they only treat her ponderings and opinions as ‘teenagerdom’ and something ‘bound to change when she grows up’. They’re too busy in front of the television, intent on ‘The Wizard of Oz’, unaware of the clock ticking on the wall, that the children they have in their arms will eventually be doing the same. Perhaps it is only her who can glimpse into such thoughts. Perhaps it’s due to how she is in that time in adolescence when you know that you’re going to grow up, and that you’re nervous about what it will bring. Perhaps… She slides off the seat, and plops onto the sofa. Her younger sibling comes to her lap, bringing the scent of warm milk and love, something which will outlast all time. She smiles. Love, which can outlast all time.

yes. I like this. The writing is good, it doesn’t have unnecessary words. And also I like how you go into the feeling of fear of growing up and leaving what is known and people loved.

He, sits. He thinks. He ruminates. What is he doing with his life? Come Jan 24, 2014 and he would be completing 23 years of existence on planet Earth. But what has been accomplished so far? A bachelors degree, a film school diploma and now on his way to gain his Masters in Marketing and still he doesn’t feel very accomplished with himself. Still leaving at home, feeding of Dad’s income with absolutely no work experience as such, was he worth anything?

The fact that the girl he really had a thing for not only rejected his romantic advances but went on to say that “I will never like you” didn’t help his cause. He needed to find his ‘eureka’ moment where he finds the true purpose of his life. Maybe it lies in the world of words. Maybe that’s why his heart always kept tugging at this direction but he was too lazy to sit and let the words flow. Maybe it’s time for him to realise that there is no point in trying to rush and see what his future is going to turn out like. Live life and Just let it be.

I could really relate to this and the feeling of not yet being there, at that place where one wants to end up.

The blue chair was her throne, her childhood home her castle. Right now, just for right now, there were no doors opening and closing. No pounding on the stairs as parents and/or a brother made their way to the second floor. Not even the hum of the dishwasher or the thump of the washing machine intruded into her time.

All she heard was silence. That blissful, marvelous silence that came from just being. Not doing or crying or wondering or worrying. Just being.

For these few minutes, she could pretend. Pretend that it hadn’t been almost a year since she had to move back home. Pretend and remember what it was like to live in her own space, among her own things, free to think her own thoughts or even to dance in the kitchen with no one watching. If she wanted to, she could even watch an entire episode of “Glee” without any eye rolls or scoffs thrown her way. Or questions. She was so relieved, really, to have this time without questions about how had her day been, and who did she eat lunch with, and why did she like this show or that so much, and had she heard from so-and-so lately?

Not even the temptation of having the family TV all to herself was enough to pull her away from her words. The words were there, always waiting. She just had to sit still long enough to see them. To feel them, run her hands over them, testing their strengths, their weaknesses.

She wasn’t always sure of what she was writing, or why she was. “Writers write to be read,” she remembers telling a friend, many moons ago. But somewhere along the way, she stopped. The writing fizzled, save for a sporadic blog post here and there. She didn’t remember when, exactly, but she had lost herself, and was always, always in search of the She she used to be.

The blue chair didn’t have any answers. Neither did the blue walls, or the red mantle. My mother is a colorful woman, she thought. The fake greenery arranged artfully around the room also offered no secrets, no clue to the person she was looking for.

So she ignored them all — the reds, the greens, the blues — and leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The searching could wait another moment. For now, there was just being.

This was really intriguing and interesting to me.

Love the opening line

Life is complicated for her, if not physically, then on the inside. Between work stress, school priorities, and guys, she doesn’t always make time just to talk to God, and often suffers for it. She struggles with finding her identity. Her family is always supportive and loving, and that gives her strength and hope.

She is inside now. She wishes she were drinking coffee but she thinks it a waste of time to make some for just a few spare minutes of writing. She loves the outdoors though. She also loves people. Everyone coming from different places with different ideas, many she had never thought of. She loves how life changes. But she is starting to realize somedays things don’t seem to change. At least not for her, not always. Someone told her once life doesn’t hand us a new lesson until we first master the one given. Perhaps she was stuck on something. But perhaps she just expected too much from the universe.

Her garden is being eaten away by bugs, and she has been working to get ahead of it. And even though she had gotten the bugs under control, the plants look damaged and many have died. Can the plants catch up and be in time for the harvest time, she wonders.

This one is actually quite, quite mad, but I’m literally just writing the first things that come to me on these prompts!

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22, single, Bristol! Straight up social construct looking for love. Seeking the sort of love that can be conceived of as a ‘lagoon’ or ‘oasis’. Enjoys music and gambling, always up for a PARTYYY! Young displaced whisper floating among suburban streets. Massive Kanye fan, second biggest hero probably Messi!! Youthful fun-lover carried invisibly by a discourse I can’t remember. Travelling, traveller forever <3 .

he was lying in bed. another day is over.every night it occurs to him that he hadn’t been giving much attention to the the passing of days, to opportunities he missed. but then he admits that counting them wouldn’t really make a difference. you’d think it will end there and he’d go to sleep now, but it never does, because he always needs to do something about it or at least think about doing something about it. why is it that he never feels satisfied at the end of the day? may be because he’s not doing something he likes, may be because he is not doing anything, or may be because it doesn’t matter what he does as long as it is HE who’s doing it. he’s not dissatisfied with life, he’s dissatisfied with being.

three body in the small dim room- two sleeping. one sits cross-legged, her fingers tucked in around the cover of her small neon notebook. her eyes constantly gaze around the object that surrounds her and for a second she wondered why she loves to write in the dark so much when there’s plenty damn lights in the daytime. her heavy eyes darts to her brother’s sleeping figure, his snore low and she always find it funny in some way; maybe because she could tease him about it later and she always wonders about her sister’s eyes when she sleep; they’re never fully closed and she still think about it at some point. suddenly, her hand pauses and she took a short breathe, reciting what she had just wrote in a careful whisper. it’s almost three in the morning. she felt a familiar feeling of wishing she could just drift away to her beauty sleep haunts her every night, though she could never come close to stop thinking about so much things.

Sunlight gently streams into her room, caressing her face. Her eyes flutter open; another day has begun. She carefully selects the outfit she will wear; the dress must match her shoes while the earrings must offset the color of her hair. Everything must look perfect because in reality nothing really is.As she carefully applies her make-up she notices tears glistening in her eyes. She smiles weakly and although her eyes shine with life, the lace of death within them is unmissable. Try as she might she cannot hide the pain that is always with her.

She tries to remember a time when laughter was her life’s song, and hope was her constant companion. A time when she had a spring in her step, a trunk full of dreams and a heart bursting with love. Reality intrudes on her wistful musings and she remembers she must get to work. She carefully tucks away the pain and meticulously hides her bleeding heart, and once the burden of loss is tightly secured on her back, makes her way to work.

‘laughter was her life’s song’- beautiful

He sits on his computer all day his mum says, wondering out his window, what is actually out there? look, whats that and whats that? it looks like a rock falling from the sky in the distance burning with fumes of smoke, the rock is the same size as Africa I heard on the news, it was cooling but they say it could cause collateral damage on a major scale, like one we’ve never seen before, this is the end call it judgement day, the end of days, the second coming. I didn’t care for that one moment I knew what to do with my life…

“Wake up, you lazy mongrel! Time for school!”

Those blaring words, coupled with a rigorous jolt made against her shoulder, ends her long sleep nestled with a dream. It seems to her that her mind stiffens as still as a frozen figure before it adjusts to reality. In other words, the brain waves take a long while to recognize what is happening now.

Slowly, eyes half-closed and struggling with her depleted energy, she reaches out for the alarm clock which is situated on her bedside table. It is now six o’clock in the morning, when she realizes it is fifteen minutes too late to get up. A thought dawns on her: must she go back to sleep or head for school? With a quick burst of energy, she dashes off for a good bath and after ten minutes, emerges from the bathroom all wet, with a wrapped towel on her wet hair and another covering her naked body. Without further hesitation, she dresses into her school uniform and stamps out of her room with her bag in tow.

While having a breakfast with her family, her thoughts are on her assignments, which are almost complete at that moment. She leaves very little time to ponder on her dreams as doing this would waste precious time. Having finished with all the usual preparations, she skips off outside.

He shows up to job that moved him across country, that he was unsure of. He graduated from school July 2011, and didn’t get a call from a company until January 2014. He wasn’t sure if it was the right decision. He believes the move part was right but the job, the job is boring and doesn’t challenge him like his last. Their is a lot more down time and sitting around. He often jokes with is coworkers he has watched more tv the past year and a half than he has in the previous five combined. He doesn’t know what to do. He went to school to work on planes, but he doesn’t like it. It is not what he expected. Coming on to the age of 30 what does he do? Does he stay in this career path or find another? He doesn’t have any special skills or hobbies to make a career out of. He kind of misses his old way of life. Doing electrical wasn’t so bad always busy at work, did not have to work second shift and sit around until 2-230 am while his supervisor fucks around on the internet, just because.

His old boss knew how to take care of his men. He would buy a few thirty racks for the guys every week, sometimes twice depending on how thirsty we were that week. Occasionally he would takes us out to dinner. It was a fun environment to work at. Its funny how things work he tries to better himself and make himself happier but all he has done is made him more frustrated. He is a city 850 miles away from his friends and family. He has a smaller social group. He loves the city of Chicago and is glad he made the move. Because it’s a fun city and always something to do. And if he didn’t take this risk, he could look back at his life 10 years from now regretting he never took this risk.

On the sofa laptop in place cats at his feet yearning for touch

Warm summer night air invited in through fully opened windows cars speed past passersby talk in swift whispered tones

He finds words to add to a new poem some fall from his fingertips with ease others drop haltingly fishing for the right word in this first draft

like he usually does uncertain where he’s going fear to share to much, not enough thinking, thinking of the point

of why his writing this poem words battle in his mind for recognition to be chosen

to show the feeling he’s trying to capture with words on a laptop in place cats at his feet yearning for touch

He stops and strokes them they need him now

She’s sitting on a bed with a mac on her laps. Her toes are freezing even though she’s on a tropical island with the ocean in a safe distance hiding in the dark, frogs quietly perfecting their tunes, and the wind coming in and out of a little house without using the door.

Solitude. Silence. Nature. Time. She has almost everything a writer could be dreaming of.

Has she written much since she came here about a year ago? A few Facebook posts. Three probably. No. Four.

In her defense, she’s just recently discovered that ‘morning pages’ or the stream of consciousness that helps get rid of what’s obstructing the writing and is intended to be kept private just like a diary does not count as actual writing. Who knew?!

Plus she was busy with work. The work she loves. And can conveniently hide behind.

And often times it just felt pointless. Someone else surely wrote about the things she wanted to write already. Or will write about it very soon. And better than her.

And doesn’t she need to learn more, understand more, become more, better, enough to write the book she wants?

She also had to finish reading yet another book about creativity, sincerely wishing it was longer. Or endless. And read more about writing. And how all the above and below should be solved by a simple motion of typing word after word, sentence after sentence, otherwise known as writing.

This evening all she wanted to do was write. But then she had to find the log-in details (that haven’t been used for two years) to the unfinished online course on how to create a blog that makes a difference. And think about a perfect topic. And a WordPress theme. Just to kill that urge to write. Something. NOW. Nobody would read that blog anyway with the plentitude of brilliant ones out there to choose from.

Maybe she’s not that passionate about writing after all. She could definitely survive without it. She could keep updating the list of things she wants to write about and share, and keep exploding about not doing that on those private pages that will never be shared.

She would survive. But would she thrive? Another year might be given for her to find out.

She puts her headphones in as she types away on her laptop. The music drowns out her problems and the writing washes away her pain. A cold cup of coffee sits beside her, but it’s been long forgotten as she absorbs herself in the lyrics that were made to speak to her hurting ears. She imagines the life of her characters and fantasizes about slipping into her precious books and never coming back to reality.

The messy kitchen that surrounds her is suffocating and she thinks of just walking out of the house and starting a new life somewhere else. Her mind is in a million and three places all at once. Right now, all her mind is filled with is the fantasies of her dreams and the music that calms her soul.

Her frizzy, curly, brown hair is in a messy bun and her brown eyes sparkle with inspiration. Her mind has doubts about society finding her pretty and talented, but the writer in her has a different personality and she has a confidence in her that only comes through in her writing.

As she sits in school, her headphones have been banned and the only writing she does is equations and the answers to problems that are not her own. She watches the other people and envies their happiness. Everyday’s a struggle not to snap under the pressure of having straight A’s and expectations that her shoes are too small to fill. Day to day this is the same feeling, the same agony.

Someone changes her though. When she’s around this person, the pain fades and not a keyboard in sight, her problems are forgotten and the headphones she so often turns to are abandoned as she embraces this person. True happiness can be seen in her eyes, but of course this is just another fantasy that will fade as quickly as the door is shut and she once again is left in the messy kitchen with her writing and headphones.

She always has a smile on her face. Sometimes it’s real and sometimes it’s not. The truth is that, deep inside, she’s a warrior. Her head is a battelfield. One might think she’s always optimistic, like her life is a musical where a happy tune is playing in the background. But no. She’s constantly at war with her mind, struggling with keeping her innocence intact. She likes to think of the world as an ocean. But she’s not fooled by it’s beauty. She knows very well that the ocean isn’t such a scary place if one’s solely observing it from the shore. She knows she’s not brave enough, not strong enough. She knows she can’t dive in, even in her wildest dreams. So she lays there, on the burning sand, watching the sunset, thinking about love, as if she were in a fairytale. Thinking about reality terrifies her. Thinking that there’s a world out there where only few know happiness makes her want to stay forever in her little happy place where people desperately get out of the ocean looking for someone to make them see the good in the world again. And the fact that she hopes to be that someone, for any stranger who’s struggling with life, makes her who she is. And that’s why she makes it a point to put a smile on her face and laugh, no matter what war she’s in.

A very real scenario a lot of us will identify with

She always has a smile on her face. Sometimes it’s real and sometimes it’s not. The truth is that, deep inside, she’s a warrior. Her mind is a battlefield. One might think she’s always optimistic, like her life is a musical where a happy tune is playing in the background. But no. She’s constantly at war with herself, struggling with keeping her innocence intact. She likes to think of the world as an ocean. But she’s not fooled by its beauty. She knows very well that the ocean isn’t such a scary place if one’s solely observing it from the shore. She knows she’s not brave enough, not strong enough. She knows she can’t dive in, even in her wildest dreams. So she lays there, on the burning sand, watching the sunset, thinking about love, as if she were in a fairytale. Thinking about reality terrifies her. Thinking that there’s a world out there where only few know happiness makes her want to stay forever in her little happy place where people desperately get out of the ocean looking for someone to make them see the good in the world again. And the fact that she hopes to be that someone, for any stranger who’s struggling with life, makes her who she is. And that’s why she makes it a point to put a smile on her face and laugh, no matter what war she’s in.

He sat staring in to the laptop screen. It’s dull light painting his face a subtle shade of cyan. Was it dull though? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the afternoon sun streaming its heat in through the three wide windows behind him, in his bedroom, was just too bright. Everything was relative. None of it constant. He realized as his fingers, now slightly oily with sweat, drew circles on the touchpad and traced the edges of the black ‘accutype’ keys. Sweat was trickling down his forehead too, forming droplets on his thick eyebrows, dampening them and blurring his vision. He didn’t wipe them off with the handy towel he kept nearby, as was his custom. Let the heat burn this sickly feeling inside of me, he thought.

He couldn’t think of any other way to get rid of the feeling. What had he done? He had said his good byes to her. That’s what he had done. That’s what he had accomplished with his morning. Ended something that had kept him human and alive for a year. He had destroyed something he might have on this very day, in the previous year, sworn to keep true forever. Why had he done it? The flurry of strong, sharp, pointed reasons that had left his quiver of logic and pierced the bond that tied them together, seemed flaccid now. Strangely impotent. Was he happy now? He could tell that if only he could feel his heart. It had gone silent, and numb.

The blinking cursor on the white screen gave him no comfort. Write! His head screamed at him breaking the silence. Write something! Let it out!

What would he write about? Every word seemed to form around her, framing themselves around her face and her smile.

Find something else to write about.

Look it up. Find a prompt. He finally moves and the fingers that were caressing the plastic keys before him, began to press them with vague intent taking shape in him. Find a prompt, he thought, wiping the droplets of sweat hanging from his brow, and trickling down his face. Let it out…

She keeps biting her nails. And she doesn’t know why she just cant quit this disgusting habit. Disgusting. Do you really write it like that? She doesn’t remember. Its already 5oclock in the afternoon and she still is in her pjamas, too lazy to even get off the couch and get a glass of water, she is much too comfortable. She feels ok, but the rainy day outside makes it hard for her not to think about negative things, like her break up and the fact that she hasn’t written for such a long time. She even forgot how to use the keyboard properly. Why did she quit? Was it because of him? Maybe he wasn’t encouraging enough? Too full of himself as a writer? That he made her feel like she isn’t good enough? No. He did a lot of things wrong, but not this. It all comes to herself and her lack of self confidence. What happened now? What changed? She did. She is herself again, because it all depends on her. How she feels, how she behaves, how she speaks. Its kind of like karma. What goes around comes around. She hates cliches, but its true. If you don’t love yourself, who will love you truely in the end of the day? If you don’t believe in the story you are telling, how can you expect others to fully believe it?

She is too lazy for everything, or maybe not lazy but too scared. Scared of trying, scared of losing, of disappointment. Maybe thats why she keeps biting her nails, doesn’t even try to quit it, because she knows that she will not be strong enough and start it again anyway. But you know what they say, if you don’t try you will always wonder why. Another cliche. But thats why right now she is writing, because she doesn’t want to be the one to not even try. Who knows, maybe putting her fingers on top of the keyboard instead of in her mouth, might even help her to overcome that disgusting habit. She still doesn’t remember how you write that word, and she is still too lazy to look it up.

He sits in a dimly lit room, typing on a dimly lit laptop. He is lost in himself and lost in the world. He finds himself lost in a maze he doesn’t understand the dimension of. Up is darkness and left is melancholy. But he still types.

He has always been numb. He has always been detached. He was ok with how it was before. He is a thinker. Once a problem presents itself he decides right then whether to pursue it or to wipe it from his consciousness. But he knows he can’t wipe The Question away.

The Question is why he has always read. He hopes to find a glimpse of an answer. He doesn’t have any other choice. Someone else must have had The Question before. Therefore, there must be instructions or directions or a fucking path to follow to lead to an answer. But he has come up short. 21 years of searching and he has only just grasped the simplicity of The Question.

“Who am I?”

It haunts him. It lies behind every word, underneath every step, and right at the edge of his vision. He sees the world as nothing but a mirror by which he can maybe hold fully catch a true glimpse of the answer. Before high school, books were the mirror. Then it was that hurricane of a woman. Now it is in friends and maybe just maybe he won’t need a mirror for much longer.

But it is hard work. To drown but to hold off on getting help. To suffer but to refuse to ask the pain to stop. He knows the answer to The Question is in these experiences. He writes for the same reason he once read.

Hopefully the answer arrives soon. Treading water isn’t easy.

Really well written. I find this so easy to follow a see the growing emotions and battles.

He;s sitting quite content in a sense. Throughout turmoil being anything but rare state of mind. As he sits here computer in lap writing, he feels home again. Trying to chase various paths of life throughout the past couple years, yet always knowing in the back of his head that he will end up home. Writing. Doing what he has always truly loved since he first discovered it in elementary school. Funny thing is; he discovers this in the most humorous way, at his best friends house, regardless of the fact that he is 2000 miles away at school. His best friends name is Andrew, and he goes to school in Colorado. Andrews house was always the 2nd home in his life. Single mom, raising 3 kids Andrew being the oldest. The boy on the bed, yeah over here *waving*[trying to use imagery], he on the other hand is home from school taking part time classes after being a full time student for the past 2 and a half years. You see, he was in a dark place for a while. Lots of things going on in his life, battling unhealthy relationship with long-time girlfriend, various family medical situations, trying to catch up on sleep from being a student-athlete with a rigorous schedule constantly. On top of all that he is being told these will be the best times of my life, yet all he feels is a cloud of depression over his head glooming larger and larger as the day goes on. Throughout all this, he decided it was best to come home for the semester. He has had a lot of time on his hands; a lot of support from his one and only woman he will ever need in his life, his mother. The true best friend. He has come to realize a lot of things about life. Life is what you make it, there’s only so much opportunity out there that you have to be willing to put the work to achieve your true goals. The right people relationship wise will come to him. All he needs is his family of five sisters and one brother with two loving parents behind his back. He can achieve anything he wants. Throughout the past couple days, he had a chance to think very deeply. He decided he’s going to attend college to play lacrosse, while majoring in business with a minor in some sort of english or writing. He feels like this is the right thing for him to do. He is very personable, and feels he can excel in the business world by day and by night take care of his body, be athletic, and destress and by night doing what he loves most, writing. And heck, if he ends up being good at it and maybe pursue a career in that path, then screw it. Life is what you make of it, you have to do what feels right, and what truly at the end of the day put a smile on your face and make you happy.

Her Bed is made. That’s a change. It isn’t always. For once she made it. She dared to tame unruly blankets that had twisted and tangled themselves throughout the night. Confined to her room, quarantine self imposed, she lay on her neatly made bed. Propping her head up on pillows she angled her laptop to just the right angle for bearable squinting. Her glasses were annoyingly smudged, but un-cleanable on the black Batman t-shirt she wore. She gave them a once over. Better than they were before, good enough, she pushed them onto her face. There. Comfortable.

She sighs. What is she doing anyway? Music plays over the internet radio. There is so much passing through her mind that the firewall is up to keep the virus from corrupting essential programming. So far high functioning. So far so good. Processing power is diverted to essential tasks, managing the menial necessities. Depression is a daily deviant she fights.

Around 15 minutes long:

She sits on a soft and cushioned couch, legs close together, eyes staring at an electronic screen of white and light. A glass of water rests close by. In her mind, words gush forth like a national gyser, and her hands shake with excitement on top of the black keyboard keys. She could already imagine the clickity-clack sounds they make after each of her fingers’ caress.

She clicks her tongue, and carefully navigates the keyboard, placing each fingure on a well travelled path. Usually, she does so with confidence, joyfully skimming the web and dreaming of a future of transformation and delight.

Today, she tilts her head and clucks her teeth, straightens her back, and glares. She glares at the notepad from left to right, tilting her head to and fro. Her toes start fidgeting, and she moves her knees up and down, as she searches her house for inspiration.

She sighs, and blinks. The cursor blinks back. She cradles the mouse carefully in her hands, preparing to place a few words to look at.

“Come on,” she thinks. “I can do this!”

She types one word, “She”, then another. And it seems as if she has finally broken through the dam holding her vocabulary hostage. Then she stops, and takes a look at her work.

After what has felt like weeks of travel from one country to another she sits looking out of a huge floor to ceiling window at the undulating tropical ocean. Despite the air con, the room feels warm and the air close. After a fortnight on European shores yearning for the heat on her back the unerringly grey and stormy weather has put a dampener on her mood. Whenever she feels like this, she reminds herself of how many people would give their right arm to be living in a tropical island paradise, but on days like today its hard not to remember the laughter, ease and shared history of familiar faces back home.

Man’s best friend commands her attention by snuggling his face on the seat in front of her. He misses his Daddy and with only one human in the house today to look after him he’s insistent on commanding her full attention. His eyes wonder to his ball. The intention is clear, “Play with me then?”. A game ensues of ‘throw and fetch’. She’s amused that he hasn’t quite mastered bringing the ball back; he takes it back to his bed each time then pushes it slightly with his foot and draws her eye as if willing her to take action through his glance.

Her thoughts wonder to the feelings this furry friend stirs inside her: maternal instinct. Is it a desire that will ever be fulfilled? Does she even want to disturb the calm freedom with which they lead their lives? Maybe nature should decide. Is that selfish or human nature she wonders?

As her mind fogs with the racing of thoughts inside her head, she hears a gentle snoring from the furry mound on the floor. Life is so simple for him she thinks, maybe they should both take a leaf out of their pet’s book and stop thinking too far ahead. “ Enjoy the moment”, she thinks and smiles to herself as she remembers how many times an online article has advised her to do just that.

I’m so alone. I thought death would bring me peace but instead it is a constant torment. I thought finally after all my pain and suffering I could have an endless sleep, an infinity of nothingness. But no. I’m stuck, forever here to watch drones get married, start families, fall in love… Why am I here? What did I do to endure this suffering? I’ve been here for centuries. Watched the decimation of my family line, the rape of my sister, murder of my father, things I probably would have been able to prevent if I was there.

It’s so lonely here on the other side, I haven’t spoken a word out loud for almost 80 years. Because what’s the point? The worst thing about it is being able to see everyone progress and not being able to interact with them, or maybe the inability to have someone touch love and care for you. It’s just nothingness.

Live your life to the fullest as this is what is in store for you, an eternity of torture and torment, oh well.

She is restless. Sitting in front of a computer monitor trying to contain a lifetime in 15 minutes. Trying to squeeze in a few words a life that was lived and a life that wasn’t. Her heart can’t contain it, her mind can’t, her room can’t contain it either. How could then a few words do it?

She is writing about the hope that is renewed as the dawn is re-birthed every day. The faith that hasn’t yet seen it all. About her real self that is yet to be manifested in a whole new way as she is becoming more and more who she was born to be.

The pictures on the wall remind her of the special moments she has lived. The sleeping man next to her reminds her of all that is yet to be lived. The silent hot night is just one of the many that she has lived; yet it is special. She can hear it whisper to her : “you are blessed”.

He woke up in the morning, and looked up at the damp patch in the corner of the room. He then wondered who was going to show up on this day, would it be white lightning, or the green eyed monster. White lightning was the mad wild white stallion that he was trying to break in, he is attempting to get a saddle and reins on this wild horse, but white lightning is a feisty beast, and doesn’t like to be controlled. But given time, he hopes that they can learn to respect one another, and white lightning won’t give him to much of a bumpy ride.

He knows that there will be times when he will loose control of the wild horse, and loose grip of the reins, and fall off. But he hopes that with help from his family, he can stand back up, and dust himself off, with only a few minor cuts and bruises. He hasn’t named the green eyed monster, as he doesn’t want to be familiar with him. This beast turns up unannounced, and at anytime, night or day. He was doing so well riding white lightning, and he was approaching the finish line, when the monster showed up, and ripped the reins from his hands. This is how he describes what it’s like living with bipolar disorder.

This mental state of hers is deteriorating, falling apart as she types. Another pretty face taken for granted, and lost in a wonderland of words. Only sure about one thing, she is alone. Alone because she pushes them away, the human race. She picks up a book and is lost again. She reads to escape this world, and writes to turn it into something else. Looking close, while she grips this pencil in her hand, a familiar feeling, it shakes. If you trace her fingers to her arm you see the cuts that bury deep into her wrist and forearm. Three months have passed and they have only faded a little. If only you could see into her body, you would notice the crack in her rip cage, and the collapsed lung that threatened to take her life two years ago. But the only visible scars from that night lie among her face, busted cheeks and scarred temple. Bruises long gone. Her shoulders start to cave with the weight of her mothers relapse, her dads disappearance and reappearance, death following her in every step along the way. She made her peace with him, why can’t he make his peace with her. People threaten to take her life and he said no. She tried to take her own and he said no. Begging to put her out of her misery. Wondering if she is here for a reason. Only time will tell.

Every form of creating is an escape, from what she still doesn’t know. She’ happy, mostly, even though she knows she shouldn’t be. There is a weird sadness and yet poetic justice about her situation. Moved from one entrapment to another, never sure which is worse. Yet here she is, still smiling and laughing because that’s all that she can do. To say she find’s this world disturbing is pushing it a bit far. There is a lot in this world she finds beautiful and there is so much to be happy about. Overly emotional and a weirdo in her own right, that’s what she is growing to accept. People come and go in her life, she watches her own life progress as if she is an on looker for things her body says and does without her permission. There have been so many late nights where she sits up cringing over thing’s she’s said and done anywhere from 2 minutes ago to 18 years ago. That in itself making her cringe. There are those around her, her friends and peers that she sees changing, being so different from who they used to be. So many of them posting their lives on social media, filling up folder after folder of selfie and fun yet hers lay bare, the latest upload 3 months ago of raspberries on her fingers because they looked like people. The childish curiosity and amusement still there. She sees all the statuses, while she sits on the sidelines of everyone else’s life, as pathetic as that is, and watches as they post how dweeb-y they USED to be and here she is, unable to say those words because the truth be told, she still is. Her weird, erratic behavior covering the scars and loathing. A volatile concoction of bitterness, love and naivety. The happy mess she’s made her life.

The same wind that scattered the leaves outside accompanied by the sounds of a passing train fills the room accented by the crisp fall air. The vibrant aroma of a fresh cup of coffee seemed to have extricated itself from the thick, cream coating over the surface, penetrating deep into his nose, watering his mouth. He craved the subtle undertone of caramel, and his cup showed a festive color. He wraps his fingers around it, enjoying the heat spreading through his hands. But without a conscious thought, it is in his hand, and the first milky sip creeps over his taste buds and down his throat. After only a few minutes he is bathed in the kick of the caffeine.

With cookies and candy nearby, he begins typing on his computer. At first his thoughts flow free and smooth like a quiet stream. But after twenty minutes or so his creative thought process hits a road block. He turns to his outline he made only minutes before hoping for more creative words. Checking the online timer he still has about ten minutes before the planned time runs out.

He has a to do list perched on his desk to serve as a reminder to stay on task. He loads some of his favorite mood music on his computer into his headset. The creative center of his brain stimulated by the music provides him with the visual and emotional thoughts he now types onto the page. Words begin to flow more freely and faster. Soon paragraphs, even chapters are written. Lost in his own world he can feel, taste, and experience every nuance his characters are experiencing.

As he types, the deep emotional thoughts translate onto the page bringing his characters to life. The timer runs out indicating a red flashing message on his screen. He stops typing. While taking a break, he reads the words his mind had provided him.

His eyes tear up as he reads what he created realizing the beauty of the words. Reading them aloud almost brings them to life.

If only he could enter that world.

She was the type of girl who was loud and outgoing. Her curly smokey brown hair and dark chocolate brown eyes that everyone though was always happy. when someone would look at her she would always be smiling , as if she had no worries in the world. At least thats what people thought. She was the happiest yet the saddest person. She never knew what she felt. she once mentioned she was seeing a psychologist to help with whatever she had,that didn’t help, it just confused her more than she already was. She was alice in wonderland but in her own world. she didn’t know whether she was mad sad or happy so she just smiled the pain away. No one ever seemed to ask how she felt because they didn’t care, but when it came to them she was the one who was always there. she was an excellent student, she played sports, and was loved by her family, yet she hated herself. Why? who knows. all she knows is that she doesn’t lover herself. she wishes that she could be the perfect picture of a teenage girl that society looks for. Those curves,flat stomach, colored eyes, etc. she had extremely nice features yet she wasn’t satisfied, she didn’t like what she saw when she would look into the mirror. all she saw was a hideous girl starring back at her. she’d would wake up knowing that she would be the same girl in the mirror. she worked out everyday and ate so little to meet societies expectations, but no matter what it wasn’t good enough for her or society. Her only escape was writing and music, she couldn’t describe her feelings or thoughts, she was emotionally and mentally muted. she would talk about anything and everything except herself. she doesn’t feel loved , she feels as if shell never be good enough for anyone or that no one will ever see her for who she truly is. On the outside she’s beautiful, smart, funny, outgoing etc. yet on the inside there is the ugly part of her that consumes her more and more everyday, she was sinking into a dark hole that no one knew about. she would take pills that would make her feel good, she would smoke pot and eat edibles, it didn’t complete her. she’s missing something that completes her but what could it be? Love? Attention? she doesn’t even know the answer to that, all she wants is to be left alone but at the same time she wants to be happy, she doesn’t want to portray to be something she’s not. She’s tired of it! She wants to be set free and be that little girl that everyone knew she was, she doesn’t want to be this rotten 16 year old girl. Her mother always tried to figure her out but she never got anywhere because she would never try to talk to anyone. Instead of talking to someone she goes to sleep or goes to work out. Her body says one thing yet her mind and soul say another. She is searching for ways to communicate through her actions yet no one understands her complexity, but thats what makes her who she is. Her complexity of emotions and mentality make her beautiful.

She sits on her couch. Goes for the remote to watch news. News is not her kind of thing but today she needs to watch. She feels the urge to see what’s happening to the world. How can she be so interested today in news? She asks herself. Deep down, she is scared. Not sure of what to do with her life. She has just finished campus and does not know what life ahead has in store for her. All she is sure of is that she wants the best life. She doesn’t want to look back and regret one day. As she sits there, she sees this cockroach just fumbling around her living room. It hits her that she has dirty utensils. Utensils from the previous day. Nothing nags her than doing the utensils but does she have an option? She let’s go the thought and picks her phone to call her little brother to see how he is doing. As she goes through her contacts, her phone vibrates..she looks, it is her boyfriend calling to ask her to meet up tomorrow they need to talk. What is it that he wants to talk about? What had she done? This freaked her out. The nervous feeling inside her does not allow her to watch the television in peace. She walks to her bedroom, lies down and lets the night slip away..

She always remembered herself listening to music. By now she pinned it down to the fact that she dreaded being alone. It wasn’t fear of the dark or any other shady thing that might be luring in dark corners, she had her own personal demons to keep her entertained. Those vengeful entities with such free will but no sense of boundaries that kept reaching out to gradually more sacred and untouched parts of herself. No music in the world could stop them today. The turntable was whistling jazz tunes and coffee was bubbling on the stove-top. She looked outside the window and the sharp stillness felt like failure. She felt the failures she’d experienced and all the failures yet to come weighing down on her. All those opportunities she’d missed and all of those she’d never gotten. Why? What was she afraid of? For one, she was afraid of answering that question.

He sits in his newly-furnished living room. Alone, as always. Of course, this is a burden that he has always bestowed upon himself. He could not be lonely, people like him enough. But nevertheless he is alone. Perhaps subconsciously, for his consciousness constantly dreads it, this is the way that he wants it to be. He silently types out his “creative” piece, only listening to the conversation within his mind and the only-occasional clicking of keys. You see, he wants to be a writer; ever since he was a small child he has dreamed of touching people’s hearts in the way that his heart has never been touched. A weird sentence? Yes, but truthful nonetheless. He has always had a sort of appreciation for the art of creative writing and reading, an appreciation that grew into a desire, not a desire to entertain but more of a desire to awe people, to make them think. Unfortunately, his laziness is the only thing that has ever stopped him from achieving his own potential. He certainly will never be the person who bows down to society and proceeds to lick it’s sweaty, fungus-ridden puss-covered toes but the least he can do, he thinks to himself, is work so that he eventually will not have to. There has always been this game he has played in his head. One where he writes something that is truly phenomenal, a piece that nobody in their right minds would ever dare to pass up, and then he shows it to a teacher or professor, somebody with power. Of course, they would be so impressed by it that they rush out of their office or classroom, wherever they are reading it at the time, and drive straight to their friend Steve-The-Editor’s house and he is so impressed by it that he immediately bestows a book deal upon the boy and he makes it big. Within two years time, he is talking movie-deals, daily interviews, widespread acclaim and above all else, a more than ideal living situation. But instead, the boy just sits alone in his newly-furnished living room, thinking of his glory-days and all they are meant to be.

An Exorcism

He listened to the audio tape, wandering idly in this crypt, that extended under the Parisian bedrock-the ossuary giving the city a foundation of bones. “This historic place was originally a quarry, a place where stone was dug…” He ignored it, too focused on exploring. He was not usually like this, but there was a difference lurking in his actions, something strong, something elemental, something overpowering. Fear-He was scared, not of the grinning skulls that littered this labyrinth, nor of the musky scent of the already decomposed skulls and bones, not even of the long narrow corridors, and leaking pipes.

He feared what the skulls implied; they were identical, forgotten, alone, and He prayed for them. For everything has a past, an origin, and with any beginning comes an end. With that realization He prayed. This time for himself. For his beginning was known, but his end, that was uncertain. Would He end forgotten, alone, indistinguishable, an enigma, from the rest, in the eternal conformity of death?

With these thoughts relentlessly agonizing him, He slowed, his extensional crisis not yet resolved, instead looming over him, in an insidious invasion. He felt meaningless, after all, without humanity the sun would still shine, space would still expand, and the mantle would still convect. What was the worth? Why were they here? What was life if not an exercise in futility? These Toxic thoughts pained his soul, and He could find no answer-no reason for his self-importance in the face of these fears and questions. It seems fitting that in a place of death, these questions haunted him.

He felt alone, until He looked at his family, and thought of his friends, and in a flash of realization, his blindness to the beauty of humanity lifted, and He remembered. He remembered the beauty of our endurance, dauntless in the face of a hostile world, a species that rose from the bottom of the food chain to the ones that create it. A race that when faced with nature’s wrath, they rebuild, and repopulate in the exact same places. Using the god-given tool of innovation, to create a society that links the world together. Rising above all that burdened them until they were smart and resilient enough to ask these questions.

With that, He realized that the answer to his crisis was in the company of his fellow man. He wouldn’t die as a nobody, because the people He loved would remember him. His life had barely begun, He had an opportunity-no a gift-to make an impact, and to change the world. With that his demons had been exorcised, that in an odd juxtaposition, his restoration of hope, occurred in a place of sadness, mouring, and death. But He supposed, that is the nature of humanity, finding inspiration in the oddest places.

He was lying in his bed, listening to the voice of newspaper flickering through the wind of ceiling fan. He was tired and having a sever headache. But was determined to learn how to write since he is very close to giving an entrance for a college. When I talk about his frame of mind, he is very scared, someone who has a confidence with a sense of doubt – “Will I be able to achieve this?”. He thinks and longs for sleeping, but there is a burning sensation, a desire, a goal that keeps him awake during the nights, gives him a typical of 4 hours of sleep every night. After all, what keeps him alive is the what kills him the most – desire to achieve success.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where else to go, who to tell or who even to trust. So he panicked. Without a second to think, he quickly grabbed the phone out of Uncle Jack’s coat pocket and dialed 9-1-1. The phone hardly rang before a operator answered. ” 9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” “Yes! can you please send medical help to 123 Main Street, my uncle has been shot and he’s not responding! There’s blood, a shit load of blood, everywhere.” he cried. After, he ended the call, quickly wiped the phone clean of any fingerprints and placed the phone in a wooden drawer near the closet.

She sits alone at a desk, a dual-monitor computer flickering lazily in front of her as she scrolls through websites online. Her eyes are tired, for such a young soul. She has had enough. The dark circles under her eyes made her seem like an infant panda, or possibly a raccoon, and no matter how much makeup she used she could never quite rid herself of them.

Often, she finds herself wandering aimlessly in her own mind; the mind itself seemingly a vast expanse of intrigue and wonder. Thoughts can linger for hours, or disappear as quickly as they come into being. After a while, she often forgets herself in her thoughts and lets time pass her by.

The stress of exams lingers over her, a hovering overlord dooming her to fail. She, however, ignores it. With a wave of her pen, she writes facts and figures to remember for the next day. A flicker of her weary eyes across a page gives her a sense of reassurement as she realises she knows more than she once thought.

The clock ticks seven. Her revision session is over. She is content and prepared, even if she looks physically exhausted.

She wakes up every morning at six o’clock sharp. Not a little bit more nor less. She likes doing that,even if its not a school morning or a day necessary for her to wake up so early. She thinks by doing that, she can catch up with time and run alongside it, not behind. She’ll sleep very late at night and wake up with the sun, a constant routine she’s careful not to break. Afraid that if she did, one precious hour will passed without her enjoying her favorite youtube channels, usually talking about different psychology topics or the meaning of her birth chart explained by amateur astrologers. She likes the silence that comes with the early morning, when everyone in her family is still asleep. For a moment, she knows that she’s safe, with only the sun and sounds of someone speaking through her iphone screen or sometimes, just her own thoughts ringing in her ears like small bells reminding her that she’s alive and all the reasons why she should be glad of that. Breathing in and out, opening and closing her eyes, a small smile tugged at her lips, and birds singing, vaguely signaling that a new day is approaching.

He is sitting in the separate room as a study room .He looks joyful remembering his family, his child and of course his parents too. Even he tries to ignore the some cuts he received in his fresh battle with his spouse. As he is somehow determine to overcome by this. Now again the question which makes him vociferous is what to do.. It is very long time ago now as he remembers his old work job. Because there is nothing credibility left in that concern or by that job. As it is morning time,he has to do some rituals but completing some more sentences. Of course he is now determined man. who has seen all gritty petty of life. He tries to answer his questions then why he is sitting ideal.

She sits back in the same seat she always sits in at 1:10pm. She scans the room around her. “What am I doing here?” she questions herself. “I belong somewhere bigger, better, faster.. most importantly more creative.” She begins to think of everything she’s ever been through and then moves onto thinking about everything she deserves. This girl had been through hell and back and never really seems to get a break. In her 7th grade year she was told that she needed to move to a house almost 20 miles away from her whole life, not extremely far.. But it was a lot for a 12 year old. There was something revealed about her parents. They were addicts. They were addicted to the effects that heroin gave them. The way it made them feel, but they realized they needed help and there was only one place their child could go and still have some sort of way to go back and forth to her school that she couldn’t just drop. Her heart dropped to her stomach every time she ever started to think about the place she was sent. She felt sick of everything she’d been through because she fears every day she’ll have to go back. The girl was sent to her aunt’s house. Sounds all great and family oriented until you realize the way she was treated and what she had to go through. When she first stepped foot into the home that she would live in for the next 6 months, she felt ery. She cried herself to sleep for a majority of the nights spent in the basement of their home. She contemplating ending her life more than once but she continued to hold on, “For mom,” she would remind herself, “Stay Strong for mom” She paced around the basement trying to figure out how to get out of her hell on earth. She was treated as a red headed step child… some would even call it a life like cinderella. She was told to make a meal once a day for the people she was staying with. She had family counselors that would come to the house and speak with her, they would find any way to possibly help her. She was in the deepest depression… nothing seemed to pull her out from the dark depths she had entered. Now the day she was taken out of the home was the most traumatic experience she had encountered. “TWO WORDS. THANK. YOU.” These words rang through her head to this day. Her aunt screamed these words at her whilst in a family counseling session. She now struggles keeping herself together everytime someone raises their voice even in the slightest bit directed towards her. Her body trembles occasionally throughout the course of her life due to these events. She doesn’t remember breathing this day. She just remembers crying and balling herself up for self protection. She was rushed into the basement to collect what she could grab. “You are the most ungrateful, disrespectful, selfish kid I’ve ever met!” The young girl still thinks about herself like this. She takes one look in the mirror. Disrespectful. Selfish. Not good enough.. This is what she sees. New things have been added to the ways she sees herself because her self esteem was destroyed. Ugly. Untalented. Rude. Broken. That word… Broken. There was no way to unsee this word written across her forehead. She never thought she would be able to be loved again. After she left her aunt’s house she moved from one house to the other of her family. She was moved to another aunt’s house, this time her mom was with her. Her mom had to leave the recovery house she was staying in because the broken hearted girl wasn’t able to keep herself together anymore after the horrifying memories that blocked her state of mind. After a few months they were asked to leave there as well, due to having a relationship with her father. He was also a recovering addict and wasn’t the best with keeping his old ways under keeps. He had stolen about 200 dollars in change from the woman who allowed his girlfriend and daughter to stay. They moved forward from this and the young girls grandmother allowed them to enter her home. At this time in her life she was about 13 now. Her mother was diagnosed with an unknown disease that caused her brain to swell. Her mom fell back into a deep depression and the only way she knew how to cope with this was to begin using again. She was constantly in and out of the hospital and her young daughter struggled with the idea that she had no clue what could happen to her mom. Eventually she was released and all was well, except that fact that they were sooner than later kicked out of this home they were staying in as well. Her heart broke. She wasn’t good enough, her mind flew to the conclusion that her family didn’t love her. Hate grew in her heart. She began to come off as hard and unloving. Her heart looked black. She didn’t feel anything anymore. She definitely believed no one would love her anymore. Here comes the part where we fast forward 2 years. She falls in love with a boy she never thought she would even have noticed. She fell in love with not only this boy but his family, his heart, his looks, and his interests. He put on the cover of loving her more than anything. She opened her heart to the boy, she gave him everything. Near the end of the relationship she gave him her body, her heart, her soul and her mind. He was the first boy she’s ever gave these things to. She valued herself more than expected and took these things very seriously. But not long after she did this he decided it was time for things to come to an end. She never saw this coming… she had planned so far in advance for them. She started planning for next year, next summer, their one year. She truly believed that he was the one to help her through everything. He lightened up her life in ways that hadn’t been lit up in years. She found herself in a dark space again. She didn’t really understand why it hurt her so bad to have her heart broke over and over again. Her mind told her this would become a normal thing. The broken girl never really stops being broken right?

At the moment, she was worried. It felt like everything was all too much and not enough at the same time, and it was overwhelming in a way that was seemingly impossible to explain. She was sitting in a chair with ugly red flowers sewed onto a grey fabric, and she was contemplating her life. It felt like so much had already happened, but there was still more to come. It was an exciting thought, but it was also what was frighting her. She had everything planned. A college acceptance letter was tacked onto her wall above her bed; her future was ready to begin. She would attend an unreasonably expensive school, live in mediocre dorms with a room mate she feared she would hate, but she would survive. The college wasn’t far from home, so any time she felt her sanity slip she knew her mother was only a twenty minute drive away. Her mother could always help her clear her mind, and she knew within the next couple of years, she was bound to need plenty of clearing. College wouldn’t be easy. She would be working on her writing, investing herself into the one thing she truly loved, even though she knew it was a bad idea. That this tacit rarely worked, and it rarely worked for people like her. People with so much doubt in themselves that the feel that maybe everything would just be easier if they gave up and did something smarter. Maybe she could do something easier with her life. Major in math, like she always thought she would, maybe become the veterinarian she had dreamed herself to be for so many years before she got it in her head that she wanted to be a writer. Still, as she considers quitting on her dream and doing something that would be more successful in the future, she can’t ignore that fact that she wouldn’t be happy in any other life. She’s passionate about writing, more passionate about creating her own words than reading others, and this is saying something because she can often be found hiding somewhere with a book in her hands, ignoring f all of the responsibilities of high school and life. She wishes that it would be easy to get where she wants to go, but she knows it won’t be, and all she can do is hope that she can keep her doubt at bay for long enough to do something amazing, because she knows she can. But she doesn’t know if shes strong enough for that. Strong enough to ignore the world and all the judgmental people in it who are trying to hold her back. Doesn’t know if she can ignore herself for that long. This is what scares her. Herself. So she sits in her ugly chair and prays that she doesn’t get in her own way of changing the world with her own words.

Behind a desk loaded with papers, she sits in an office chair looking anywhere but at those files waited to be sorted through. She wonders, ‘How much paper would it take to completely barricade me into this office I despise? Could I stop my boss from popping in periodically if I flooded this room with papers, making it impossible to open the door without risking a paper cut frenzy?’ She wouldn’t mind the paper cuts if it meant more autonomy and less need for these useless details depicted on every form. She sips her coffee, which the receptionist brewed too strong (again) and will surely cause a queasy stomach as she taps fingers and feet, hoping to make 5 o’clock come more quickly. Coffee is no time machine though – merely a morning ritual which always seems like a comfort until she’s at the bottom of the cup, realizing it actually brought her almost no comfort at all. ‘Oh well’. she thinks. ‘Maybe tomorrow’s cup will help the time pass faster.’ And yet time passes at the same rate it always has, ticking away her life, file by file, cup by cup.

Eleven Years Ago They make it seem like a past can just be forgotten. They don’t truly realize what it really was like. Smoke. Silence. Constant pain and fear. Hungers of a child compel her out of the safety of the closet. Creeping past the slumbering Bringer of Agony and Rare Love, she trips over imagined escapes. Scouring the kitchen, she looked for something – or anything to eat. But a roar of the mother’s wrath interrupted her anxious search. A fist met her stormy blue eye. Cries of confusion and agony echo in the sparse and bare apartment. She falls face first into the cruddy, grey shag carpet, fresh cigarette butts singing her cheekbones. She whimpers like a kicked puppy, trying her hardest to not let The Woman see her tears carving canyons down her pale freckled face. She knows this to be her life, and that it will never change. At the tender age of five, she already knew that her mother couldn’t and wouldn’t love her, and each day will follow like the one before it. Abuse would’ve been her eternity. But she also did not know of hope. She didn’t realize that the unexpected can occur in the deepest, darkest of midnights. When the silver moon was just a glowing crust, the storm in her eyes brewed. A thought rose like the tide, and an idea crashed down in waves. Before her mind could rationalize the idiocy, she crawled out of the sleeping bag in the closet. The Woman had left the child alone that night, again. Grabbing her coat, shoes, and a cereal bar, she climbed out onto the steel ladder going down the five story apartment complex. Her footfalls made little to no noise as she clambered clumsily. A tomcat yowled and hid when she stepped out onto the pavement. She looked both ways. The stars winked mischievously as she disappeared down the unknown alleyway, escaping from the frying pan and into the great and terrible fire itself.

Now She sat in her creative writing class. Creative non – fiction, huh? Sounded interesting. She recalled the stolen file hidden under her mattress. She knew she was adopted. Her parents knew that at seven years old, she was bound to remember something and thus didn’t keep it a secret. But they also never gave her any details. They say they really never knew the background of the little blonde child they opened up their arms for. It wasn’t until she was older that she recalled memories of eating rotten apples and discarded, half eaten sandwiches in the darkness. She remembered grey shag carpets, and a ripped sleeping bag in a tiny closet. Images that she couldn’t have imagined on her own began sprouting up from nowhere. She didn’t dare tell her parents. They always assumed her overactive imagination tended to skew her version of reality. They thought they knew better than to trust her words. So just the other day, when her parents were gone, she poked around in her dad’s office looking for the keys to the intimidating file cabinet prowling in the corner. She didn’t believe that her parents were as ignorant as they portrayed themselves to be. Besides, when you go through a huge financial and legal change like adopting a child, don’t you usually keep records of everything? They had to be in that filing cabinet. She had shuffled around through the desk drawers and the bookshelf beside her computer. She saw a ring of little keys beside a small wicker basket filled with other random brick-a-brack. Excitedly, she tried the first key. It didn’t even insert. She heard her mom open the garage door. The second slid in easily, but refused to turn. The dogs were sitting at the laundry room door expectantly. Her heart racing, she almost dropped the keys before using the last one. Slippery like butter, it turned. The drawer popped open. Her eyes glanced at all the different files, and saw the one titled Annalia. The file was heavy, and she thrust it into her shirt. The papers felt cold and sharp against her sweaty back as her mother walked into the house, laden with groceries. “What are you doing in dad’s office?” Her mom was definitely suspicious. “I was getting printer paper for a drawing. It looks nicer than the lined notebook stuff.” She nodded. “Ok. Help unload the car please, then get started on your homework. And remember, it’s trash to the curb night, and you have to be at choir practice at 6:30…” After school that day, she plopped herself on to her bed and pulled the thick file out from under her mattress. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but this – this was something else entirely. It was a record, from the day she was introduced to the family on their doorstep in the August air, to just few days ago while she was working out at the Dojo. She read her mother’s handwriting, of every single conceivable mistake and error she made, and was picked apart and analyzed. There were even notes from some parental class she was taking, something about child development and discipline. She read every single day entry. Then behind the notebook there were medical reports dating 2001 – 08. It was a little hard reading the messy handwriting of a doctor, especially with the older technology of photocopying fading the paper. The day that she put into state custody, apparently there was a very thorough physical examination. She had purple and black bruises all along her arms and legs and stomach and back, and even rings around her neck from a chokehold. The were long red streaks, presumed by the writer as proof of a constant whipping from a belt. There was also damage to her lungs from secondhand smoking. She had three deep puncture wounds on the bottom of her left foot that were infected. She vaguely remembered crying on brick steps, holding a bloody foot and smoke curling around her tear stricken face. She was horrified. She always dreamed of finding her parents, and meeting them again. She imagined herself to be like Annie, where her parents would come back for her someday. She knew that she couldn’t just go back to live with them again, but she liked the idea of both sets of parents all sitting down at the dinner table, laughing and eating delicious food together. She could see her adoptive dad taking out the monopoly game board, and both of them having conversations about boyfriends, and moms sharing their own mother’s chocolate chip cookie recipes. Her fantasy was destroyed. That could never be. Her own mother was only thirteen years older, young enough to be an older sister. Her father went unmentioned throughout the file, as if he only existed to bring her into the world, then ceased to exist. There were also gaps. 2006 and 2007 weren’t recorded. She knew she was going to have to learn more. This file – this wasn’t enough. Her hunger for the truth to be dragged out only increased when she snuck the file back to the cabinet after making more copies of every single page. She stored her copies between the layers of spare sheets on the top shelf in her closet. They couldn’t know. Not yet. She needed to know more. This couldn’t be the end.

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Home — Essay Samples — Life — About Myself — Describe Myself Essay

Describe Myself Essay

Categories: About Myself

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Words: 595 |

Published: Mar 5, 2024

Words: 595 | Page: 1 | 3 min read

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How to Write About Yourself

Last Updated: September 17, 2024 Fact Checked

This article was co-authored by Lucy Yeh . Lucy Yeh is a Human Resources Director, Recruiter, and Certified Life Coach (CLC) with over 20 years of experience. With a training background with Coaching for Life and Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) at InsightLA, Lucy has worked with professionals of all levels to improve the quality of their careers, personal/professional relationships, self marketing, and life balance. There are 13 references cited in this article, which can be found at the bottom of the page. This article has been fact-checked, ensuring the accuracy of any cited facts and confirming the authority of its sources. This article has been viewed 5,744,523 times.

Whether you're writing an essay about yourself for a scholarship, a self-introduction, or a personal bio for a job application, coming up with the right words to capture what makes you unique can feel challenging. Fortunately, there are tips and tricks that can make writing about yourself a breeze. Want some help getting across just how impressive, interesting, and skilled you really are? Keep reading to learn everything you need to know about putting yourself into words effectively, complete with examples.

Writing of the Autobiographical Nature

Who are you?
What is your background?
What are your interests?
What are your talents?
What are your achievements?
What challenges have you faced?

What is your most interesting or unique quality? What word(s) describes you the best? Choose that topic.

Bad: I like sports.
Ok: I'm a fan of basketball, football, tennis, and soccer.
Good: My favorite sport is football, both to watch and to play.
Better: When I was growing up, I would watch Big Ten football with my dad and brothers every Saturday, before we'd go outside and toss the football around. I've loved it ever since.

Braggy: I'm the best and most dynamic worker at my company right now, so you should want to hire me for my talents.
Humble: I was lucky enough to be awarded three employee of the month awards at my current job. Turns out it was a company record.

Writing Personal Essays for School

Step 1 Choose a memorable story to tell.

Common themes or prompts for autobiographical essays include overcoming obstacles, great successes or spectacular failures, and what you learned about yourself.

Step 2 Focus on a single theme or purpose.

Depending on the assignment, you may need to connect a personal anecdote to a reading or an idea from class. Start brainstorming topics that are connected to that idea, to give yourself a variety of options to choose from.

Step 3 Write about complex topics, not cliches.

Common autobiographical essay cliches include sports stories, mission trips, and dead grandmothers. While these can all make for excellent essays if done well, it is difficult to stand out when telling the story of how your lacrosse team lost a big game, then practiced hard, then won. It has been written before.

If you want to tell the story of your nasty break-up, start with the break-up, do not start with the star-crossed way you met. You have got to get immediately to the tension in the story.

When you have an idea of your topic, start writing a "memory list" of specific things that you remember about the event. What was the weather like? What did it smell like? What did your mother say to you?
Your opening paragraph will set the tone for the rest of the essay. Rather than telling the dull biographical details (your name, your place of birth, your favorite food), find a way to express the essence of the story you are going to tell and the themes you are going to explore in your essay.

Writing a Cover Letter for an Application

Outline your qualifications and highlight your talents in a cover letter.
Write about who you are.
In a cover letter, describe how your education and experience qualifies you for this position.
Explain how this opportunity will benefit your career goals.

When in doubt, keep it brief and serious. If you are unsure whether or not telling an amusing anecdote about your friend's bachelor party is appropriate in a cover letter, it is probably best to leave it out.

Step 3 Describe why you are writing in the first paragraph.

"I'm writing to apply for the entry-level position with Company Inc. advertised on your website. I think my experience and training makes me an ideal candidate for this position."
Contrary to popular belief, it is not necessary to include your name in the body of the letter: "My name is John Smith and I am applying...." Your name will be included in the signature, as well as the header of a cover letter, so there is no need to put it in the text itself.

Step 4 Structure the cover letter as cause and effect.

Who you are and where you come from.
Where you want to go.
How this opportunity would potentially help you get there.

Step 5 Detail your talents and skills specifically.

Be as specific as possible. It is alright to note that you are "A passionate leader in all walks of life" but it would be much better to write about an example of a time you lead in a surprising way.
Stay focused on skills and talents that connect specifically to the thing you are applying for. Extracurricular involvement, leadership roles, and other types of outstanding achievement may be important to you personally, but it may be totally extraneous. If you include something, ensure to connect it specifically to the goal of the cover letter.

Step 6 Describe your goals and ambitions.

Be as specific as possible. If you are writing a university cover letter, it is obvious that you have to have a degree to get a job as a doctor, but how did you come to choose this field? Why did you choose this school? What, specifically, do you want to take away from the experience?

Step 7 Explain how both parties will benefit from your selection.

Be careful about using a cover letter to critique a business. It is not the time to describe the suffering of a particular brand over the previous fiscal quarter, then promising that you will be able to turn it around with your ideas. That might not go over well if you are hired, and then you are unable to live up to the promise.

Even if it is impressive, a high GPA or class ranking does not belong in a cover letter. Highlight it on your resume, but do not include it in two different places of the application.

Mailing address
Telephone and/or fax number

Expert Trick : Save time and effort by creating one generic format that you can use for many different job applications by tweaking the specific content for each one. Start with a general introductory paragraph , then a section or two fleshing out your resume and expertise as it relates to the job, and finish it off with a closing paragraph and a note of thanks.

Writing a Short Biography Note

Pretend you are writing about someone else. Write your name and start describing that person like a character or a friend: "John Smith is the Executive Vice President of Company Inc..."

If you are a jack of all trades, say so. Do not be afraid to list "actor, musician, mother, motivational speaker, and professional rock climber" if they all apply equally.

Step 3 Briefly list your responsibilities or accomplishments.

It is common to list degrees that you have received. Pay particular attention to anything that ties into the work you are writing about. If you have special training, include it here.

Step 4 Include a bit of your personal life.

"John Smith is the Executive Vice President of Company Inc., in charge of marketing and overseas acquisitions. He received an MBA with distinction from Harvard and lives in Montauk with his cat Cheeto."
Do not overshare. It can seem funny to immediately start with "John Smith loves rafting and hates eating Cheetos. He's a total boss" and such bio notes can be appropriate for some venues, however be careful to avoid awkward oversharing. Telling everyone about your killer hangover might be best left for after work talk.

Stephen King, who is one of the most successful and popular authors in recent history, has a bio note that just lists the name of his family members, his hometown, and his pets. Consider leaving out the self-congratulation entirely.

Community Q&A

If you are having a difficult time writing about yourself, search online for examples of personal writing, in order to get some ideas and inspiration. Thanks Helpful 3 Not Helpful 0
Don't think about how others feel about you. Everyone thinks from a different perspective. Thanks Helpful 3 Not Helpful 0
Remember that you’re supposed to talk about yourself, it’s the main topic. Don’t talk about your friends or family, even though you may feel tempted to. Thanks Helpful 2 Not Helpful 0

↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/resumes-cover-letters/how-to-write-about-yourself
↑ https://writingcenter.unc.edu/tips-and-tools/brainstorming/
↑ https://ohiostate.pressbooks.pub/choosingsources/chapter/narrowing-a-topic/
↑ https://www.yourdictionary.com/articles/essay-about-self-writing
↑ https://writingcommons.org/article/using-first-person-in-an-academic-essay-when-is-it-okay/
↑ https://www.glassdoor.com/blog/6-unconventional-ways-start-cover-letter/
↑ https://english.washington.edu/writing-cover-letter
↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/career-development/career-goal-statement-examples
↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/resumes-cover-letters/resume-vs-cover-letter
↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/resumes-cover-letters/whats-the-ideal-cover-letter-length
↑ https://www.indeed.com/career-advice/resumes-cover-letters/how-to-format-a-cover-letter-example
↑ https://writingcenter.uagc.edu/first-vs-third-person
↑ https://www.grammarly.com/blog/how-to-write-bio/

About This Article

If you have to write an autobiographical description of yourself, write down a list of your talents, interests, and accomplishments. Use this list to help you choose one specific topic for your description, such as your academic achievements or your leadership qualities. Use specific, unique details to support your topic, such as being awarded an academic scholarship or the fact that you were president of the newspaper in high school. You can list bits of your personal life, but be careful not to overshare. If you want to write about yourself a cover letter or personal essay, keep reading the article! Did this summary help you? Yes No

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You either love to talk about yourself or hate it, but one thing is for sure: Writing about yourself in essay form is hard for anyone. Learn how to write the perfect essay about yourself here. ... Approach a creative essay about yourself the way you'd approach telling your best friend a story. You want to put in enough details that the story ...
18 Best Written Essays on Myself
Writing an Essay on About Myself or Yourself is one of the most interesting and easiest job provided you know its basics. As, everyone has got a different set of qualities, when you are writing an essay about yourself, you are supposed to write what you are in most interesting, engaging and creative manner.
17+ Great Ideas for an Essay About Yourself
An essay about yourself should present you in a positive light, but also leave your reader with a greater understanding of what it is that makes you tick. What's your inspiration and motivation? In this article, I'll give you a range of ideas to include in your essay about yourself. These ideas will show you how to tell a compelling story ...
Who Am I: Essay about Myself: [Essay Example], 1699 words
I would change myself to make sure that one person can think otherwise of me. It was stupid, now that I look at it. It took me some time to see 3 that I was defining myself with how others viewed me as. But the only person that should know who you are is you. I don't think you should ever change yourself for anyone. You are, who you are.
FREE About Myself Essays
Inspirational Writing Samples for Your Essay About Myself "Facing the mountain, I felt an unprecedented mix of fear and exhilaration. Climbing had always been a metaphor for my life's challenges. Each step upward mirrored my journey of overcoming [specific challenge], teaching me resilience, focus, and the importance of trust. Through this ...
27 Outstanding College Essay Examples From Top Universities 2024
Looking for more college admissions essay examples about yourself? Check out more personal statements here. Behold, some of the best college essays of 2024 (in my humble opinion). ... is knowing when to prioritize following the recipe and when to let myself be creative. Sure, there are scientific variables such as proximity to heat sources and ...
Write About Yourself: Tips and Prompts
Several scenarios might require you to write about yourself from personal essays to job applications and biography blurbs. The key for each is to think about the purpose and the target audience. Then shape your personal history or life experience into a well-crafted piece of writing that meets those needs of purpose and audience.
Describe Myself Essay: [Essay Example], 595 words
These creative outlets allow me to tap into my emotions and thoughts in a way that words alone cannot capture. Furthermore, I consider myself to be a compassionate and empathetic person. I believe in the power of kindness and understanding, and strive to extend these qualities to those around me. ... Describe Myself Essay. (2024, March 05 ...
5 Ways to Write About Yourself
It is different than a cover letter in that the purpose of a cover letter is to introduce a candidate for employment or admission, while a non-fiction essay is for exploring a theme. This type of writing requires that you tell a story about yourself, using specific, real-life details that highlight a particular theme or idea throughout the essay.

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18 Best Written Essays on Myself [ Primary, High School, College ]

Essays on Myself | Myself Writing, Essays & Paragraphs with Quotes | For Primary, High School & College Level Students

1. Long Essay on Myself For College Level Students

2. Myself Essay for Class 9 and 10th Students

3. Myself Essay for Class 8

4. Myself Essay for Class 7

5. Myself Essay for class 6

6. Myself Essay for Class 5

7. Myself Essay for Class 4

8. Myself Essay Class 2 and 3 Students

9. Myself Essay For Class 1

10 lines on Myself for KG Students

10. Short Speech About Myself For Students

11. Simple Essay on Me and Myself For Students

12. Sample Essay About Yourself For College:

13. Simple Myself Essay For Interview:

14. Short Essay on I am Unique:

15. Short Professional Essay on Myself:

16. 5 Years from Now I See Myself Essay:

17. Things I would Like to Change about Myself Essay:

18. Short Essay on Myself as a Social Worker:

Frequently Asked Questions

2. How can I write about Me?

3. How can I introduce myself in English example?

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17+ Great Ideas for an Essay About Yourself

1. Come up with One Word about Yourself and Put it in your Title

2. Make it Personal using Anecdotes

3. Describe your Ancestry

Who are your ancestors?

Who you are is because of your ancestors.

4. Tell the story of how you got your Childhood Nickname

5. Tell an Important Story from your Childhood

6. Start with “When I’m old I will look back and reflect on…”

7. Or, Start with “In ten years I will be…”

8. Describe your Interests

9. Describe what Motivates You

10. Identify your Current Personal Challenges

11. Identify the Biggest Challenge you’ve Overcome

12. Be Humble

13. Describe your Personality Type

14. Include Details you’d put on a CV

15. Describe your Physical Attributes

16. Explain who is your Biggest influence and Why

17. Conclude by Returning to your Opening Hook

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Write About Yourself: Tips and Prompts

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