EmperorKupcake
Member
Well, I should give you guys a little insight on this first. We're reading the book The Things They Carried in English class. Its a really good book, actually. There's the common motif of stating the things that the soldiers carried in Vietnam. They carried M-16s, C-Rations, mine detectors, but they also carried the fear of death, the pressure of keeping each other alive, the longing to see family members again.
So I wrote this creative essay. Its five pages in total, so I thought I would just share a couple of exerpts to see what you guys think.
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"[/FONT] The things he carried were determined by a level of sentimentality. Among them, a Mollard conducting baton: 12 inches in total, pear shaped rosewood handle, weighing no more than 4 ounces, he estimated. Kenneth had received this unique trinket as a Christmas gift, from his girlfriend, Jamie. Jamie, being an aspiring musician as well, gave him this gift with the love of music that they shared encased inside its wood frame. As Kenneth holds the perfectly balanced handle, he hears enchanting oboe melodies off in the distance, as he’s mesmerized and falls into conducting a rhythmic pattern, hearing Jamie’s voice in the back of his mind. The words could not be translated, but he still knew what she was saying. What she was saying couldn’t be expressed through any language, but really through what connects closest to the heart. For both of them, that connection was music. Off in the distance, he heard words in the form of melody, and he knew exactly what she was expressing."
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The things he carried were determined by a sense of pride. This pride took physical form in the medals, plaques, and certificates he had gained throughout the years, through various competitions and concerts. It was not a sense of glory, but proof to himself that his hard work had been paying off, and that he could continue to work hard and accomplish much more. After all, the mundane rehearsals and long practices by himself were very time consuming and as performances would approach, stress would become a lead ball in his stomach. Nearer and nearer the performance, the lead ball grew. Hoping it wouldn’t grow out of control, Kenneth remembered what Chuck taught him. “A clear mind is all that you need at this point”, Kenneth would hear in the back of his mind. Sometimes, the lead ball grew out of control, and clarity was beyond his control. However, other times Kenneth could reduce this lead ball to nothing. “Give that negative attitude a name, or some kind of identification.” He would focus on making this lead ball go away. On stage, Kenneth would close his eyes. “Forget the notes. You know them already. Don’t think about playing the trumpet. Think about making music.” He would imagine himself in his room, making music directly from the soul. The trumpet would ring with brilliance sometimes, other times with a deep, warm sound. The concert hall would be filled with the heart of an artist, in the form of music. He would leave stage, feeling more accomplished than ever, proud to truly express the many shades of Kenneth Kupyak with the audience. Proud, not for the glory or honor, but for accomplishing a goal not easily reached. At that point, he was a musician. Not just a student-musician. He had joined the ranks of his heroes. "
Thanks for reading, guys. I appreciate all comments. Negative or positive. Feel free to be as brutal as you want, just give a reason. Thanks
So I wrote this creative essay. Its five pages in total, so I thought I would just share a couple of exerpts to see what you guys think.
[FONT="]
"[/FONT] The things he carried were determined by a level of sentimentality. Among them, a Mollard conducting baton: 12 inches in total, pear shaped rosewood handle, weighing no more than 4 ounces, he estimated. Kenneth had received this unique trinket as a Christmas gift, from his girlfriend, Jamie. Jamie, being an aspiring musician as well, gave him this gift with the love of music that they shared encased inside its wood frame. As Kenneth holds the perfectly balanced handle, he hears enchanting oboe melodies off in the distance, as he’s mesmerized and falls into conducting a rhythmic pattern, hearing Jamie’s voice in the back of his mind. The words could not be translated, but he still knew what she was saying. What she was saying couldn’t be expressed through any language, but really through what connects closest to the heart. For both of them, that connection was music. Off in the distance, he heard words in the form of melody, and he knew exactly what she was expressing."
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The things he carried were determined by a sense of pride. This pride took physical form in the medals, plaques, and certificates he had gained throughout the years, through various competitions and concerts. It was not a sense of glory, but proof to himself that his hard work had been paying off, and that he could continue to work hard and accomplish much more. After all, the mundane rehearsals and long practices by himself were very time consuming and as performances would approach, stress would become a lead ball in his stomach. Nearer and nearer the performance, the lead ball grew. Hoping it wouldn’t grow out of control, Kenneth remembered what Chuck taught him. “A clear mind is all that you need at this point”, Kenneth would hear in the back of his mind. Sometimes, the lead ball grew out of control, and clarity was beyond his control. However, other times Kenneth could reduce this lead ball to nothing. “Give that negative attitude a name, or some kind of identification.” He would focus on making this lead ball go away. On stage, Kenneth would close his eyes. “Forget the notes. You know them already. Don’t think about playing the trumpet. Think about making music.” He would imagine himself in his room, making music directly from the soul. The trumpet would ring with brilliance sometimes, other times with a deep, warm sound. The concert hall would be filled with the heart of an artist, in the form of music. He would leave stage, feeling more accomplished than ever, proud to truly express the many shades of Kenneth Kupyak with the audience. Proud, not for the glory or honor, but for accomplishing a goal not easily reached. At that point, he was a musician. Not just a student-musician. He had joined the ranks of his heroes. "
Thanks for reading, guys. I appreciate all comments. Negative or positive. Feel free to be as brutal as you want, just give a reason. Thanks
