<p>so i have my common app done and i wrote my essay on the fourth prompt (about a place where you are content). i was wondering if i could just recycle it for the UC prompt about a world. i would LOVE to get feedback- i'm going crazy.</p>
<p>Breathing Language</p>
<p>Some people are content to breathe oxygen, but I require words to exist. Surrounding myself with piles of fantasy novels, I happily traded the chaotic blacktop for lunches in the library in elementary school. I remember middle school by the books I read: Shakespeare plays and Greek mythology most of all. I remember falling in love with the cadence of a writers voice in my mind, and the sense of catharsis from finishing a novel, play or epic journey. </p>
<p>I will remember high school for having written my first novel. I can vividly recall my ninth grade English teacher handing out a rather thick packet of paper, turning around and writing THE NOVEL PROJECT on the white board in bright red ink, and saying, By the end of January, all of you are going to have written a book. The class groaned. I started experiencing heart palpitations. I want you to choose a setting by Friday.</p>
<p>While the rest of the class grumbled about having to write a novel, my palpitations were ecstatic in origin. I love reading and writing. I love the smell of books, the feel of old pages beneath my fingertips, the sound of utter silence, and the taste of wonder. I love the feeling of spinning between worlds, and the shivers along your spine as the words mean something real to you. I love how six words is all it takes to hook a reader- Fahrenheit 451, It was a pleasure to burn,- and three words is all it takes to make a reader cry for more- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, All was well.</p>
<p>I knew exactly what I wanted to write about: Shakespeare. </p>
<p>I forced myself to get my other homework done each night before exploring the restrictions on women in Elizabethan England, the inner workings of the Lord Chamberlains men, and re-reading Twelfth Night, which would be the backdrop of my novel. I looked forward to every writing session, spending hours pouring words and ideas onto the screen. </p>
<p>The feeling of phrasing something just right was heavenly to me: </p>
<p>Some of us discard the confines of society, peeling away the ropes that bind us to be docile, loving wives and caring daughters. Some of us are strong enough to carry the weight of those less inclined to step away from the constraints of conformity. Some of us control our own fate and, by doing so, control the fate of others. . . . </p>
<p>The words flowed; they didnt seem to be coming from my mind, but rather a source of their own, as if my protagonist was calling me to be more brave and passionate in my own life. I was never more proud of myself than when I turned in my original, hand-bound, 19,794- word manuscript. </p>
<p>I dont know where my love of words will take me next. I dream of publishing something some day, be it prose or verse. I want to teach literature, to inspire people the way so many English teachers have done for me. There is no truer contentment than in the world of imagination and possibility that exists between the pages of a well-phrased book, or on a blank page, with a pen or keyboard in hand.</p>