Grit Essay Examples - 903 Words

Grit is a predictor of academic, professional, and personal success. Grit can be defined as strength of character or the ability to overcome failure and continue to work toward success. People with grit are not always the people with the most natural ability, but their work ethic and ability to overcome obstacles allows them to achieve success. Grit is a very valuable characteristic in almost any venture, as it gives someone an advantage in overcoming the inevitable obstacles they will face. However, grit is much easier adopted when an individual has a growth mindset. The first step to obtaining grit is to correlate both self-control and self-confidence when trying to reach an objective. By doing this, one can focus on the task at hand†¦show more content†¦I had no experience as a runner nor did I have the form. This did not phase me however. That year I promised myself to push through all the six mile runs, sore legs, gnarly blisters, and at times, lack of oxygen. At every meet and speed workout practice I pushed myself further and further. I set a goal every time I kicked off from the starting line and never let myself get discouraged when I failed. By my senior year, I was the fourth fastest runner on varsity. That year our varsity team won the district meet, which qualified us to run in the 2016 state meet in Oregon. The transformation over the years were evident. My determination to accomplish my goal of becoming a faster runner was complete. If I had simply just given up that first day of practice, I wouldnt have ran along side of t he fastest runners in Oregon or have met the multitude of people that are now my closest friends. Having a goal sets one up for a challenge, whether it being physically or mentally, goals keep us active and thinking in more ways than one. Still, if someone has self-control, confidence, and a goal, they are still not complete. Growth mindset is the cone to an ice cream. It is the foundation of what I think a successful person is. Without it one couldn’t use the characteristics mentioned above in more ways than one. Someone with a growth mindset believe that their most basic abilities can be developed through dedication and hard work, brains and talent are just the starting point.Show MoreRelatedGrit : Perseverance And Passion For Long Term Goals962 Words   |  4 Pagesarticle, â€Å"Grit: Perseverance and Passion for Long-Term Goals,† by Angela L. Duckworth, Christopher Peterson, Michael D. Matthews, and Dennis R. Kelly, research and studies were conducted to dis play the extent of how grit is a contributing factor in the â€Å"achievement† or â€Å"success† in â€Å"vocational and avocational achievements that were recognized by other people† in comparison to â€Å"those that are primarily subjective value to the individual† (Duckworth,Peterson,Matthews, and Kelly 1087). Grit is definedRead MoreGrit Vs. 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ESOL 40 has helped to me improve in writing essays, grammar skills and also getting closer to My main goal which is to reach the higher classes. Writing an essay in an important aspect of learning English and fortunatelyRead MoreSummary Of Cr?ï ¿ ½vecoeur874 Words   |  4 Pages1780’s a French aristocrat by the name of J. Hector St. John de Crà ¨vecoeur wrote a collection of essays defining his stance on colonial American society and Americans themselves. In this excerpt Crà ¨vecoeur gives his definition of the American man and the â€Å"poor European emigrant† (39). He explains how a man thrives in the new country and how the rise up from the lowest class. As a reader reads the essay, they must note the writer himself, his tone, his sentence structure, and how his words connectRead MoreI Have Learned About My Writing879 Words   |  4 Pagesand instead of making a paragraph too wordy, I should just get to the point and then analyze. I learned that a beneficial writing strategy can be overviewing the topic briefly, stating the argument, and then using supporting details like quotes and examples that back up the original argument. In high school, I took the International Baccalaureate level of English that my school offered a selected amount of students from beginning of my junior year to the end of my senior year. In those two years weRead MoreThe Cold War2159 Words   |  9 Pagestherefore developed the GRIT strategy, which aimed at using small but significant unilateral concessions to build mutual trust between the two powers, so that tensions could be reduced and negotiations could be made in good faith (Osgood, 1962). In the years that followed, there were different attempts made by both powers to use concessions in this way, yet a number of them were viewed with extreme skepticism (Kaiser, 1980). In this essay, I argue that, while many components of the GRIT strategy were attemptedRead MoreAnalysis Of The Article The Secret Of Raising Smart Kids By Carol S. Dweck1217 Words   |  5 PagesJack Garceau Mr. Ebert AP Psychology 06 November 2017 Phase Two: Essay Thesis: Initially, In the article, â€Å"The Secret to Raising Smart Kids†, Carol S. Dweck analyzes the correlation between parents who praise their children for intellect and how that praise negatively affects the child’s academic performance. In 1972, a study was performed when a group of elementary and middle school students displayed helpless behavioral attributes. One group who exhibited the â€Å"helpless behavioral trait† learnedRead MoreChenjie Chai. Ms. Milliner. Cuny Ela Period 2. 1/19/2016.1397 Words   |  6 PagesChenjie Chai Ms. Milliner CUNY ELA period 2 1/19/2016 Essay Shakespeare s famous play of love turned bad by unfounded jealousy. His Othello also tells a sad story. The story begins in Venice with Iago, a soldier under Othello s command arguing with a wealthy Venetian, Roderigo. Roderigo has paid Iago a considerable sum of money to spy on Othello for him, since he wishes to take Othello s girlfriend, Desdemona as his own.Read MoreWhat Makes A Mentor?2387 Words   |  10 Pagesgets accomplished. For example, I have a great grandmother--a mentor who is considered naturally selected mentor due to her relation in my life-- who prefers to have her way and only her way. Throughout my life--in her presence--I have seen her children and her children’s children rebel against her due to her lack of understanding, and the stubbornness of her traditional mindset. I remember the time she made breakfast on a summer morning: she whipped up a batch of grits, eggs, and pancakes for myRead MoreSwot Analysis Of Urc Myanmar1026 Words   |  5 PagesOur business is built on trust and honor, making products to the highest standards. Courage – We are unafraid to try new things, even discover and journey where other don’t to deliver our promise to delight. We possess an indomitable spirit, a lot of grit. (JG SUMMIT HOLDINGS,INC., 2017) Marketing Strategy We have accepted the wonderful marketing strategy in which it will provide the products to the customers in inclusive range and adopts the effective and fast distribution channels for the supply of

The Twilight Saga 2 New Moon Chapter 1 PARTY Free Essays

string(29) " over my anxious brown eyes\." I WAS NINETY-NINE POINT NINE PERCENT SURE I WAS dreaming. The reasons I was so certain were that, first, I was standing in a bright shaft of sunlightthe kind of blinding clear sun that never shone on my drizzly new hometown in Forks, Washingtonand second, I was looking at my Grandma Marie. Gran had been dead for six years now, so that was solid evidence toward the dream theory. We will write a custom essay sample on The Twilight Saga 2: New Moon Chapter 1 PARTY or any similar topic only for you Order Now Gran hadn’t changed much; her face looked just the same as I remembered it. The skin was soft and withered, bent into a thousand tiny creases that clung gently to the bone underneath. Like a dried apricot, but with a puff of thick white hair standing out in a cloud around it. Our mouthshers a wizened pickerspread into the same surprised half-smile at just the same time. Apparently, she hadn’t been expecting to see me, either. I was about to ask her a question; I had so manyWhat was she doing here in my cream? What had she been up to in the past six years? Was Pop okay, and had they found each other, wherever they werebut she opened her mouth when I did, so I stopped to let her go first. She paused, too, and then we Goth smiled at the little awkwardness. â€Å"Bella!† It wasn’t Gran who called my name, and we both turned to see the addition to our small reunion. I didn’t have to look to know who it was; this was a voice I would know anywhereknow, and respond to, whether I was awake or asleep or even dead, I’d bet. The voice I’d walk through fire foror, less dramatically, slosh every day through the cold and endless rain for. Edward. Even though I was always thrilled to see himconscious or otherwiseand even though I was almost positive that I was dreaming, I panicked as Edward walked toward us through the glaring sunlight. I panicked because Gran didn’t know that I was in love with a vampirenobody knew thatso how was I supposed to explain the fact that the brilliant sunbeams were shattering off his skin into a thousand rainbow shards like he was made of crystal or diamond? Well, Gran, yon might have noticed that my boyfriend glitters. It’s just something he does in the sun. Don’t worry about it What was he doing? The whole reason he lived in Forks, the rainiest place in the world, was so that he could be outside in the daytime without exposing his family’s secret. Yet here he was, strolling gracefully toward mewith the most beautiful smile on his angel’s faceas if I were the only one here. In that second, I wished that I was not the one exception to his mysterious talent; I usually felt grateful that I was the only person whose thoughts he couldn’t hear just as clearly as if they were spoken aloud. But now I wished he could hear me, too, so that he could hear the warning I was screaming in my head. I shot a panicked glance back at Gran, and saw that it was too late. She was just turning to stare back at me, her eyes as alarmed as mine. Edwardstill smiling so beautifully that my heart felt like it was going to swell up and burst through my chestput his arm around my shoulder and turned to face my grandmother. Gran’s expression surprised me. Instead of looking horrified, she was staring at me sheepishly, as if waiting for a scolding. And she was standing in such a strange positionone arm held awkwardly away from her body, stretched out and then curled around the air. Like she had her arm around someone I couldn’t see, someone invisible Only then, as I looked at the bigger picture, did I notice the huge gilt frame that enclosed my grandmother’s form. Uncomprehending, I raised the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Edward’s waist and reached out to touch her. She mimicked the movement exactly, mirrored it. But where our fingers should have met, there was nothing but cold glass With a dizzying jolt, my dream abruptly became a nightmare. There was no Gran. That was me. Me in a mirror. Meancient, creased, and withered. Edward stood beside me, casting no reflection, excruciatingly lovely and forever seventeen. He pressed his icy, perfect lips against my wasted cheek. â€Å"Happy birthday,† he whispered. I woke with a startmy eyelids popping open wideand gasped. Dull gray light, the familiar light of an overcast morning, took the place of the blinding sun in my dream. Just a dream, I told myself. It was only a dream. I took a deep breath, and then jumped again when my alarm went off. The little calendar in the corner of the clock’s display informed me that today was September thirteenth. Only a dream, but prophetic enough in one way, at least. Today was my birthday. I was officially eighteen years old. I’d been dreading this day for months. All through the perfect summerthe happiest summer I had ever had, the happiest summer anyone anywhere had ever had, and the rainiest summer in the history of the Olympic Peninsulathis bleak date had lurked in ambush, waiting to spring. And now that it had hit, it was even worse than I’d feared it would be. I could feel itI was older. Every day I got older, but this was different, worse, quantifiable. I was eighteen. And Edward never would be. When I went to brush my teeth, I was almost surprised that the face in the mirror hadn’t changed. I stared at myself, looking for some sign of impending wrinkles in my ivory skin. The only creases were the ones on my forehead, though, and I knew that if I could manage to relax, they would disappear. I couldn’t. My eyebrows stayed lodged in a worried line over my anxious brown eyes. You read "The Twilight Saga 2: New Moon Chapter 1 PARTY" in category "Essay examples" It was just a dream, I reminded myself again. Just a dream but also my worst nightmare. I skipped breakfast, in a hurry to get out of the house as quickly as possible. I wasn’t entirely able to avoid my dad, and so I had to spend a few minutes acting cheerful. I honestly tried to be excited about the gifts I’d asked him not to get me, but every time I had to smile, it felt like I might start crying. I struggled to get a grip on myself as I drove to school. The vision of GranI would not think of it as mewas hard to get out of my head. I couldn’t feel anything but despair until I pulled into the familiar parking lot behind Forks High School and spotted Edward leaning motionlessly against his polished silver Volvo, like a marble tribute to some forgotten pagan god of beauty. The dream had not done him justice. And he was waiting there for me, just the same as every other day. Despair momentarily vanished; wonder took its place. Even after half a year with him, I still couldn’t believe that I deserved this degree of good fortune. His sister Alice was standing by his side, waiting for me, too. Of course Edward and Alice weren’t really related (in Forks the story was that all the Cullen siblings were adopted by Dr. Carlisle Culler and his wife, Esme, both plainly too young to have teenage children), but their skin was precisely the same pale shade, their eyes had the same strange golden tint, with the same deep, bruise-like shadows beneath them. Her face, like his, was also startlingly beautiful. To someone in the knowsomeone like methese similarities marked them for what they were. The sight of Alice waiting thereher tawny eyes brilliant with excitement, and a small silver-wrapped square in her handsmade me frown. I’d told Alice I didn’t want anything, anything, not gifts or even attention, for my birthday. Obviously, my wishes were being ignored. I slammed the door of my ’53 Chevy trucka shower of rust specks fluttered down to the wet blacktopand walked slowly toward where they waited. Alice skipped forward to meet me, her pixie face glowing under her spiky black hair. â€Å"Happy birthday, Bella!† â€Å"Shh!† I hissed, glancing around the lot to make sure no one had heard her. The last thing I wanted was some kind of celebration of the black event. She ignored me. â€Å"Do you want to open your present now or later?† she asked eagerly as we made our way to where Edward still waited. â€Å"No presents,† I protested in a mumble. She finally seemed to process my mood. â€Å"Okay later, then. Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Charlie?† I sighed. Of course she would know what my birthday presents were. Edward wasn’t the only member of his family with unusual skills. Alice would have â€Å"seen† what my parents were planning as soon as they’d decided that themselves. â€Å"Yeah. They’re great.† â€Å"I think it’s a nice idea. You’re only a senior once. Might as well document the experience.† â€Å"How many times have you been a senior?† â€Å"That’s different.† We reached Edward then, and he held out his hand for mine. I took it eagerly, forgetting, for a moment, my glum mood. His skin was, as always, smooth, hard, and very cold. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. I looked into his liquid topa2 eyes, and my heart gave a not-quite-so-gentle squeeze of its own. Hearing the stutter in my heartbeats, he smiled again. He lifted his free hand and traced one cool fingertip around the outside of my lips as he spoke. â€Å"So, as discussed, I am not allowed to wish you a happy birthday, is that correct?† â€Å"Yes. That is correct.† I could never quite mimic the flow of his perfect, formal articulation. It was something that could only be picked up in an earlier century. â€Å"Just checking.† He ran his hand through his tousled bronze hair. â€Å"You might have changed your mind. Most people seem to enjoy things like birthdays and gifts.† Alice laughed, and the sound was all silver, a wind chime. â€Å"Of course you’ll enjoy it. Everyone is supposed to be nice to you today and give you your way, Bella. What’s the worst that could happen?† She meant it as a rhetorical question. â€Å"Getting older,† I answered anyway, and my voice was not as steady as I wanted it to be. Beside me, Edward’s smile tightened into a hard line. â€Å"Eighteen isn’t very old,† Alice said. â€Å"Don’t women usually wait till they’re twenty-nine to get upset over birthdays?† â€Å"It’s older than Edward,† I mumbled. He sighed. â€Å"Technically,† she said, keeping her tone light. â€Å"Just by one little year, though.† And I supposed if I could be sure of the future I wanted, sure that I would get to spend forever with Edward, and Alice and the rest of the Cullens (preferably not as a wrinkled little old lady) then a year or two one direction or the other wouldn’t matter to me so much. But Edward was dead set against any future that changed me. Any future that made me like himthat made me immortal, too. An impasse, he called it. I couldn’t really see Edward’s point, to be honest. What was so great about mortality? Being a vampire didn’t look like such a terrible thingnot the way the Cullens did it, anyway. â€Å"What time will you be at the house?† Alice continued, changing the subject. From her expression, she was up to exactly the kind of thing I’d been hoping to avoid. â€Å"I didn’t know I had plans to be there.† â€Å"Oh, be fair, Bella!† she complained. â€Å"You aren’t going to ruin all our fun like that, are you?† â€Å"I thought my birthday was about what I want.† â€Å"I’ll get her from Charlie’s right after school,† Edward told her, ignoring me altogether. â€Å"I have to work,† I protested. â€Å"You don’t, actually,† Alice told me smugly. â€Å"I already spoke to Mrs. Newton about it. She’s trading your shifts. She said to tell you ‘Happy Birthday.'† â€Å"II still can’t come over,† I stammered, scrambling for an excuse. â€Å"I, well, I haven’t watched Romeo and Juliet yet for English.† Alice snorted. â€Å"You have Romeo and Juliet memorized.† â€Å"But Mr. Berty said we needed to see it performed to fully appreciate itthat’s how Shakespeare intended it to be presented.† Edward rolled his eyes. â€Å"You’ve already seen the movie,† Alice accused. â€Å"But not the nineteen-sixties version. Mr. Berty said it was the best.† Finally, Alice lost the smug smile and glared at me. â€Å"This can be easy, or this can be hard, Bella, but one way or the other† Edward interrupted her threat. â€Å"Relax, Alice. If Bella wants to watch a movie, then she can. It’s her birthday.† â€Å"So there,† I added. â€Å"I’ll bring her over around seven,† he continued. â€Å"That will give you more time to set up.† Alice’s laughter chimed again. â€Å"Sounds good. See you tonight, Bella! It’ll be fun, you’ll see.† She grinnedthe wide smile exposed all her perfect, glistening teeththen pecked me on the cheek and danced off toward her first class before I could respond. â€Å"Edward, please† I started to beg, but he pressed one cool finger to my lips. â€Å"Let’s discuss it later. We’re going to be late for class.† No one bothered to stare at us as we took our usual seats in the back of the classroom (we had almost every class together nowit was amazing the favors Edward could get the female administrators to do for him). Edward and I had been together too long now to be an object of gossip anymore. Even Mike Newton didn’t bother to give me the glum stare that used to make me feel a little guilty. He smiled now instead, and I was glad he seemed to have accepted that we could only be friends. Mike had changed over the summerhis face had lost some of the roundness, making his cheekbones more prominent, and he was wearing his pale blond hair a new way; instead of bristly, it was longer and gelled into a carefully casual disarray. It was easy to see where his inspiration came frombut Edward’s look wasn’t something that could be achieved through imitation. As the day progressed, I considered ways to get out of whatever was going down at the Cullen house tonight. It would be bad enough to have to celebrate when I was in the mood to mourn. But, worse than that, this was sure to involve attention and gifts. Attention is never a good thing, as any other accident-prone klutz would agree. No one wants a spotlight when they’re likely to fall on their face. And I’d very pointedly askedwell, ordered reallythat no one give me any presents this year. It looked like Charlie and Renee weren’t the only ones who had decided to overlook that. I’d never had much money, and that had never bothered me. Renee had raised me on a kindergarten teacher’s salary. Charlie wasn’t getting rich at his job, eitherhe was the police chief here in the tiny town of Forks. My only personal income came from the three days a week I worked at the local sporting goods store. In a town this small, I was lucky to have a job. Every penny I made went into my microscopic college fund. (College was Plan B. I was still hoping for Plan A, but Edward was just so stubborn about leaving me human) Edward had a lot of moneyI didn’t even want to think about how much. Money meant next to nothing to Edward or the rest of the Cullens. It was just something that accumulated when you had unlimited time on your hands and a sister who had an uncanny ability to predict trends in the stock market. Edward didn’t seem to understand why I objected to him spending money on mewhy it made me uncomfortable if he took me to an expensive restaurant in Seattle, why he wasn’t allowed to buy me a car that could reach speeds over fifty-five miles an hour, or why I wouldn’t let him pay my college tuition (he was ridiculously enthusiastic about Plan B). Edward thought I was being unnecessarily difficult. But how could I let him give me things when I had nothing to reciprocate with? He, for some unfathomable reason, wanted to be with me. Anything he gave me on top of that just threw us more out of balance. As the day went on, neither Edward nor Alice brought my birthday up again, and I began to relax a little. We sat at our usual table for lunch. A strange kind of truce existed at that table. The three of usEdward, Alice, and Isat on the extreme southern end of the table. Now that the â€Å"older† and somewhat scarier (in Emmett’s case, certainly) Cullen siblings had graduated, Alice and Edward did not seem quite so intimidating, and we did not sit here alone. My other friends, Mike and Jessica (who were in the awkward post-breakup friendship phase), Angela and Ben (whose relationship had survived the summer), Eric, Conner, Tyler, and Lauren (though that last one didn’t really count in the friend category) all sat at the same table, on the other side of an invisible line. That line dissolved on sunny days when Edward and Alice always skipped school, and then the conversation would swell out effortlessly to include me. Edward and Alice didn’t find this minor ostracism odd or hurtful the way I would have. They barely noticed it. People always felt strangely ill at ease with the Cullens, almost afraid for some reason they couldn’t explain to themselves. I was a rare exception to that rule. Sometimes it bothered Edward how very comfortable I was with being close to him. He thought he was hazardous to my healthan opinion I rejected vehemently whenever he voiced it. The afternoon passed quickly. School ended, and Edward walked me to my truck as he usually did. But this time, he held the passenger door open for me. Alice must have been taking his car home so that he could keep me from making a run for it. I folded my arms and made no move to get out of the rain. â€Å"It’s my birthday, don’t I get to drive?† â€Å"I’m pretending it’s not your birthday, just as you wished.† â€Å"If it’s not my birthday, then I don’t have to go to your house tonight† â€Å"All right.† He shut the passenger door and walked past me to open the driver’s side. â€Å"Happy birthday.† â€Å"Shh,† I shushed him halfheartedly. I climbed in the opened door, wishing he’d taken the other offer. Edward played with the radio while I drove, shaking his head in disapproval. â€Å"Your radio has horrible reception.† I frowned. I didn’t like it when he picked on my truck. The truck was greatit had personality. â€Å"You want a nice stereo? Drive your own car.† I was so nervous about Alice’s plans, on top of my already gloomy mood, that the words came out sharper than I’d meant them. I was hardly ever bad-tempered with Edward, and my tone made him press his lips together to keep from smiling. When I parked in front of Charlie’s house, he reached over to take my face in his hands. He handled me very carefully, pressing just the tips of his fingers softly against my temples, my cheekbones, my jawline. Like I was especially breakable. Which was exactly the casecompared with him, at least. â€Å"You should be in a good mood, today of all days,† he whispered. His sweet breath fanned across my face. â€Å"And if I don’t want to be in a good mood?† I asked, my breathing uneven. His golden eyes smoldered. â€Å"Too bad.† My head was already spinning by the time he leaned closer and pressed his icy lips against mine. As he intended, no doubt, I forgot all about my worries, and concentrated on remembering how to inhale and exhale. His mouth lingered on mine, cold and smooth and gentle, until I wrapped my arms around his neck and threw myself into the kiss with a little too much enthusiasm. I could feel his lips curve upward as he let go of my face and reached back to unlock my grip on him. Edward had drawn many careful lines for our physical relationship, with the intent being to keep me alive. Though I respected the need for maintaining a safe distance between my skin and his razor-sharp, venom-coated teeth, I tended to forget about trivial things like that when he was kissing me. â€Å"Be good, please,† he breathed against my cheek. He pressed his lips gently to mine one more time and then pulled away, folding my arms across my stomach. My pulse was thudding in my ears. I put one hand over my heart. It drummed hyperactively under my palm. â€Å"Do you think I’ll ever get better at this?† I wondered, mostly to myself. â€Å"That my heart might someday stop trying to jump out of my chest whenever you touch me?† â€Å"I really hope not,† he said, a bit smug. I rolled my eyes. â€Å"Let’s go watch the Capulets and Montagues hack each other up, all right?† â€Å"Your wish, my command.† Edward sprawled across the couch while I started the movie, fast-forwarding through the opening credits. When I perched on the edge of the sofa in front of him, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against his chest. It wasn’t exactly as comfortable as a sofa cushion would be, what with his chest being hard and coldand perfectas an ice sculpture, but it was definitely preferable. He pulled the old afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over me so I wouldn’t freeze beside his body. â€Å"You know, I’ve never had much patience with Romeo,† he commented as the movie started. â€Å"What’s wrong with Romeo?† I asked, a little offended. Romeo was one of my favorite fictional characters. Until I’d met Edward, I’d sort of had a thing for him. â€Å"Well, first of all, he’s in love with this Rosalinedon’t you think it makes him seem a little fickle? And then, a few minutes after their wedding, he kills Juliet’s cousin. That’s not very brilliant. Mistake after mistake. Could he have destroyed his own happiness any more thoroughly?† I sighed. â€Å"Do you want me to watch this alone?† â€Å"No, I’ll mostly be watching you, anyway.† His fingers traced patterns across the skin of my arm, raising goose bumps. â€Å"Will you cry?† â€Å"Probably,† I admitted, â€Å"if I’m paying attention.† â€Å"I won’t distract you then.† But I felt his lips on my hair, and it was very distracting. The movie eventually captured my interest, thanks in large part to Edward whispering Romeo’s lines in my earhis irresistible, velvet voice made the actor’s voice sound weak and coarse by comparison. And I did cry, to his amusement, when Juliet woke and found her new husband dead. â€Å"I’ll admit, I do sort of envy him here,† Edward said, drying the tears with a lock of my hair. â€Å"She’s very pretty.† He made a disgusted sound. â€Å"I don’t envy him the girljust the ease of the suicide,† he clarified in a teasing tone. â€Å"You humans have it so easy! All you have to do is throw down one tiny vial of plant extracts† â€Å"What?† I gasped. â€Å"It’s something I had to think about once, and I knew from Carlisle’s experience that it wouldn’t be simple. I’m not even sure how many ways Carlisle tried to kill himself in the beginning after he realized what he’d become† His voice, which had grown serious, turned light again. â€Å"And he’s clearly still in excellent health.† I twisted around so that I could read his face. â€Å"What are you talking about?† I demanded. â€Å"What do you mean, this something you had to think about once?† â€Å"Last spring, when you were nearly killed† He paused to take a deep breath, snuggling to return to his teasing tone. â€Å"Of course I was trying to focus on finding you alive, but part of my mind was making contingency plans. Like I said, it’s not as easy for me as it is for a human.† For one second, the memory of my last trip to Phoenix washed through my head and made me feel dizzy. I could see it all so clearlythe blinding sun, the heat waves coming off the concrete as I ran with desperate haste to find the sadistic vampire who wanted to torture me to death. James, waiting in the mirrored room with my mother as his hostageor so I’d thought. I hadn’t known it was all a ruse. Just as James hadn’t known that Edward was racing to save me; Edward made it in time, but it had been a close one. Unthinkingly, my fingers traced the crescent-shaped scar on my hand that was always just a few degrees cooler than the rest of my skin. I shook my headas if I could shake away the bad memoriesand tried to grasp what Edward meant. My stomach plunged uncomfortably. â€Å"Contingency plans?† I repeated. â€Å"Well, I wasn’t going to live without you.† He rolled his eyes as if that fact were childishly obvious. â€Å"But I wasn’t sure how to do itI knew Emmett and Jasper would never help so I was thinking maybe I would go to Italy and do something to provoke the Volturi.† I didn’t want to believe he was serious, but his golden eyes were brooding, focused on something far away in the distance as he contemplated ways to end his own life. Abruptly, I was furious. â€Å"What is a Volturi?† I demanded. â€Å"The Volturi are a family,† he explained, his eyes still remote. â€Å"A very old, very powerful family of our kind. They are the closest thing our world has to a royal family, I suppose. Carlisle lived with them briefly in his early years, in Italy, before he settled in Americado you remember the story?† â€Å"Of course I remember.† I would never forget the first time I’d gone to his home, the huge white mansion buried deep in the forest beside the river, or the room where CarlisleEdward’s father in so many real wayskept a wall of paintings that illustrated his personal history. The most vivid, most wildly colorful canvas there, the largest, was from Carlisle’s time in Italy. Of course I remembered the calm quartet of men, each with the exquisite face of a seraph, painted into the highest balcony overlooking the swirling mayhem of color. Though the painting was centuries old, Carlislethe blond angelremained unchanged. And I remembered the three others, Carlisle’s early acquaintances. Edward had never used the name Volturi for the beautiful trio, two black-haired, one snow white. He’d called them Aro, Caius, and Marcus, nighttime patrons of the arts â€Å"Anyway, you don’t irritate the Volturi,† Edward went on, interrupting ray reverie. â€Å"Not unless you want to dieor whatever it is we do.† His voice was so calm, it made him sound almost bored by the prospect. My anger turned to horror. I took his marble face between my hands and held it very tightly. â€Å"You must never, never, never think of anything like that again!† I said. â€Å"No matter what might ever happen to me, you are not allowed to hurt yourself!† â€Å"I’ll never put you in danger again, so it’s a moot point.† â€Å"Put me in danger! I thought we’d established that all the bad luck is my fault?† I was getting angrier. â€Å"How dare you even think like that?† The idea of Edward ceasing to exist, even if I were dead, was impossiblypainful. â€Å"What would you do, if the situation were reversed?† he asked. â€Å"That’s not the same thing.† He didn’t seem to understand the difference. He chuckled. â€Å"What if something did happen to you?† I blanched at the thought. â€Å"Would you want me to go off myself?† A trace of pain touched his perfect features. â€Å"I guess I see your point a little,† he admitted. â€Å"But what would I do without you?† â€Å"Whatever you were doing before I came along and complicated your existence.† He sighed. â€Å"You make that sound so easy.† â€Å"It should be. I’m not really that interesting.† He was about to argue, but then he let it go. â€Å"Moot point,† he reminded me. Abruptly, he pulled himself up into a more formal posture, shifting me to the side so that we were no longer touching. â€Å"Charlie?† I guessed. Edward smiled. After a moment, I heard the sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway. I reached out and took his hand firmly. My dad could deal with that much. Charlie came in with a pizza box in his hands. â€Å"Hey, kids.† He grinned at me. â€Å"I thought you’d like a break from cooking and washing dishes for your birthday. Hungry?† â€Å"Sure. Thanks, Dad.† Charlie didn’t comment on Edward’s apparent lack of appetite. He was used to Edward passing on dinner. â€Å"Do you mind if I borrow Bella for the evening?† Edward asked when Charlie and I were done. I looked at Charlie hopefully. Maybe he had some concept of birthdays as stay-at-home, family affairsthis was my first birthday with him, the first birthday since my mom, Renee, had remarried and gone to live in Florida, so I didn’t know what he would expect. â€Å"That’s finethe Mariners are playing the Sox tonight,† Charlie explained, and my hope disappeared. â€Å"So I won’t be any kind of company Here.† He scooped up the camera he’d gotten me on Renee’s suggestion (because I would need pictures to fill up my scrap-book), and threw it to me. He ought to know better than thatI’d always been coordinationally challenged. The camera glanced off the tip of my finger, and tumbled toward the floor. Edward snagged it before it could crash onto the linoleum. â€Å"Nice save,† Charlie noted. â€Å"If they’re doing something fun at the Cullens’ tonight, Bella, you should take some pictures. You know how your mother getsshe’ll be wanting to see the pictures faster than you can take them.† â€Å"Good idea, Charlie,† Edward said, handing me the camera. I turned the camera on Edward, and snapped the first picture. â€Å"It works.† â€Å"That’s good. Hey, say hi to Alice for me. She hasn’t been over in a while.† Charlie’s mouth pulled down at one corner. â€Å"It’s been three days, Dad,† I reminded him. Charlie was crazy about Alice. He’d become attached last spring when she’d helped me through my awkward convalescence; Charlie would be fore’ter grateful to her for saving him from the horror of an almost-adult daughter who needed help showering. â€Å"I’ll tell her.† â€Å"Okay. You kids have fun tonight.† It was clearly a dismissal. Charlie was already edging toward the living room and the TV. Edward smiled, triumphant, and took my hand to pull me from the kitchen. When we got to the truck, he opened the passenger door for me again, and this time I didn’t argue. I still had a hard time finding the obscure turnoff to his house in the dark. Edward drove north through Forks, visibly chafing at the speed limit enforced by my prehistoric Chevy. The engine groaned even louder than usual as he pushed it over fifty. â€Å"Take it easy,† I warned him. â€Å"You know what you would love? A nice little Audi coupe. Very quiet, lots of power† â€Å"There’s nothing wrong with my truck. And speaking of expensive nonessentials, if you know what’s good for you, you didn’t spend any money on birthday presents.† â€Å"Not a dime,† he said virtuously. â€Å"Good.† â€Å"Can you do me a favor?† â€Å"That depends on what it is.† He sighed, his lovely face serious. â€Å"Bella, the last real birthday any of us had was Emmett in 1935. Cut us a little slack, and don’t be too difficult tonight. They’re all very excited.† It always startled me a little when he brought up things like that. â€Å"Fine, I’ll behave.† â€Å"I probably should warn you† â€Å"Please do.† â€Å"When I say they’re all excited I do mean all of them.† â€Å"Everyone?† I choked. â€Å"I thought Emmett and Rosalie were in Africa.† The rest of Forks was under the impression that the older Cullens had gone off to college this year, to Dartmouth, but I knew better. â€Å"Emmett wanted to be here.† â€Å"But Rosalie?† â€Å"I know, Bella. Don’t worry, she’ll be on her best behavior.† I didn’t answer. Like I could just not worry, that easy. Unlike Alice, Edward’s other â€Å"adopted† sister, the golden blond and exquisite Rosalie, didn’t like me much. Actually, the feeling was a little bit stronger than just dislike. As far as Rosalie was concerned, I was an unwelcome intruder into her family’s secret life. I felt horribly guilty about the present situation, guessing that Rosalie and Emmett’s prolonged absence was my fault, even as I furtively enjoyed not having to see her Emmett, Edward’s playful bear of a brother, I did miss. He was in many ways just like the big brother I’d always wanted only much, much more terrifying. Edward decided to change the subject. â€Å"So, if you won’t let me get you the Audi, isn’t there anything that you’d like for your birthday?† The words came out in a whisper. â€Å"You know what I want.† A deep frown carved creases into his marble forehead. He obviously wished he’d stuck to the subject of Rosalie. It felt like we’d had this argument a lot today. â€Å"Not tonight, Bella. Please.† â€Å"Well, maybe Alice will give me what I want.† Edward growleda deep, menacing sound. â€Å"This isn’t going to be your last birthday, Bella,† he vowed. â€Å"That’s not fair!† I thought I heard his teeth clench together. We were pulling up to the house now. Bright light shined from every window on the first two floors. A long line of glowing Japanese lanterns hung from the porch eaves, reflecting a soft radiance on the huge cedars that surrounded the house. Big bowls of flowerspink roseslined the wide stairs up to the front doors. I moaned. Edward took a few deep breaths to calm himself. â€Å"This is a party,† he reminded me. â€Å"Try to be a good sport.† â€Å"Sure,† I muttered. He came around to get my door, and offered me his hand. â€Å"I have a question.† He waited warily. â€Å"If I develop this film,† I said, toying with the camera in my hands, â€Å"will you show up in the picture?† Edward started laughing. He helped me out of the car, pulled me up the stairs, and was still laughing as he opened the door for me. They were all waiting in the huge white living room; when I walked through the door, they greeted me with a loud chorus of â€Å"Happy birthday, Bella!† while I blushed and looked down. Alice, I assumed, had covered every flat surface with pink candles and dozens of crystal bowls filled with hundreds of roses. There was a table with a white cloth draped over it next to Edward’s grand piano, holding a pink birthday cake, more roses, a stack of glass plates, and a small pile of silver-wrapped presents. It was a hundred times worse than I’d imagined. Edward, sensing my distress, wrapped an encouraging arm around my waist and kissed the top of my head. Edward’s parents, Carlisle and Esmeimpossibly youthful and lovely as everwere the closest to the door. Esme hugged me carefully, her soft, caramel-colored hair brushing against my cheek as she kissed my forehead, and then Carlisle put his arm around my shoulders. â€Å"Sorry about this, Bella,† he stage-whispered. â€Å"We couldn’t rein Alice in.† Rosalie and Emmett stood behind them. Rosalie didn’t smile, but at least she didn’t glare. Emmett’s face was stretched into a huge grin. It had been months since I’d seen them; I’d forgotten how gloriously beautiful Rosalie wasit almost hurt to look at her. And had Emmett always been so big? â€Å"You haven’t changed at all,† Emmett said with mock disappointment. â€Å"I expected a perceptible difference, but here you are, red-faced just like always.† â€Å"Thanks a lot, Emmett,† I said, blushing deeper. He laughed, â€Å"I have to step out for a second†he paused to wink conspicuously at Alice†Don’t do anything funny while I’m gone.† â€Å"I’lltry.† Alice let go of Jasper’s hand and skipped forward, all her teeth sparkling in the bright light. Jasper smiled, too, but kept his distance. He leaned, long and blond, against the post at the foot of the stairs. During the days we’d had to spend cooped up together in Phoenix, I’d thought he’d gotten over his aversion to me. But he’d gone back to exactly how he’d acted beforeavoiding me as much as possiblethe moment he was free from that temporary obligation to protect me. I knew it wasn’t personal, just a precaution, and I tried not to be overly sensitive about it. Jasper had more trouble sticking to the Cullens’ diet than the rest of them; the scent of human blood was much harder for him to resist than the othershe hadn’t been trying as long. â€Å"Time to open presents,† Alice declared. She put her cool hand under my elbow and towed me to the table with the cake and the shiny packages. I put on my best martyr face. â€Å"Alice, I know I told you I didn’t want anything† â€Å"But I didn’t listen,† she interrupted, smug. â€Å"Open it.† She took the camera from my hands and replaced it with a big, square silver box. The box was so light that it felt empty. The tag on top said that it was from Emmett, Rosalie, and Jasper. Selfconsciously, I tore the paper off and then stared at the box it concealed. It was something electrical, with lots of numbers in the name. I opened the box, hoping for further illumination. But the box was empty. â€Å"Um thanks.† Rosalie actually cracked a smile. Jasper laughed. â€Å"It’s a stereo for your truck,† he explained. â€Å"Emmett’s installing it right now so that you can’t return it.† Alice was always one step ahead of me. â€Å"Thanks, Jasper, Rosalie,† I told them, grinning as I remembered Edward’s complaints about my radio this afternoonall a setup, apparently. â€Å"Thanks, Emmett!† I called more loudly. I heard his booming laugh from my truck, and I couldn’t help laughing, too. â€Å"Open mine and Edward’s next,† Alice said, so excited her voice was a high-pitched trill. She held a small, flat square in her hand. I turned to give Edward a basilisk glare. â€Å"You promised.† Before he could answer, Emmett bounded through the door. â€Å"Just in time!† he crowed. He pushed in behind Jasper, who had also drifted closer than usual to get a good look. â€Å"I didn’t spend a dime,† Edward assured me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face, leaving my skin tingling from his touch. I inhaled deeply and turned to Alice. â€Å"Give it to me,† I sighed. Emmett chuckled with delight. I took the little package, rolling my eyes at Edward while I stuck my finger under the edge of the paper and jerked it under the tape. â€Å"Shoot,† I muttered when the paper sliced my finger; I pulled it out to examine the damage. A single drop of blood oozed from the tiny cut. It all happened very quickly then. â€Å"No!† Edward roared. He threw himself at me, flinging me back across the table. It fell, as I did, scattering the cake and the presents, the flowers and the plates. I landed in the mess of shattered crystal. Jasper slammed into Edward, and the sound was like the crash of boulders in a rock slide. There was another noise, a grisly snarling that seemed to be coming from deep in Jasper’s chest. Jasper tried to shove past Edward, snapping his teeth just inches from Edward’s face. Emmett grabbed Jasper from behind in the next second, locking him into his massive steel grip, but Jasper struggled on, his wild, empty eyes focused only on me. Beyond the shock, there was also pain. I’d tumbled down to the floor by the piano, with my arms thrown out instinctively to catch my fall, into the jagged shards of glass. Only now did I feel the searing, stinging pain that ran from my wrist to the crease inside my elbow. Dazed and disoriented, I looked up from the bright red blood pulsing out of my arminto the fevered eyes of the six suddenly ravenous vampires. How to cite The Twilight Saga 2: New Moon Chapter 1 PARTY, Essay examples

Donald Margulies Essay Example For Students

Donald Margulies Essay I was Miss America. Bess Myerson was Eva Braun, coos an obese, schizophrenic, unstoppable force of nature named Debby, describing a dream to her Holocaust-survivor mother Lola. What a tour de force for Bess! She was positively adorable. We played Bingo together, me and Bess. We won prizes. She won the coveted Oscar and I won the most adorable handbag made of Jewish hair. Welcome to the world of Donald Margulies, where even the days are dream-ravaged and humor is laced with the razor-edge of pain. Best known for his 1991 play Sight Unseen (the fourth most-produced play among the nations resident theatres in 1993-94, and coming soon to a theatre near you), Margulies has for the past 10 years been quietly staking out a claim as a preeminent chronicler of the Holocaust-shadowed lives of American Jews. Debbys fantasy (The last time I visited the concentration camp, they turned it into a bungalow colony, she begins) isnt a sick joke, although it may seem so out of the dramatic context and pain-inflicted ethos of The Model Apartment. Margulies is a profoundly disturbing writer, but the world of which he writes is profoundly disturbed. Dead relatives keep showing up Beginning in 1984 with Found a Peanut, in which adult actors playing children enact the small victories and immense cruelties of childhood, the 40-year-old writer has crafted a series of plays that place family dramas securely in the resonant grasp of history. Joseph Papp, who produced Found a Peanut at the New York Shakespeare Festival, called it one of the most powerful plays about anti-Semitism hed ever read. In The Model Apartment and The Loman Family Picnic, long-dead relatives, victims of the Holocaust, make appearances. (Uncle Izzy! Go into the smorgasbord! You must be starving! gushes proud Doris in The Loman Family Picnic. Boy, theyre really coming out for Stewies bar mitzvah!) Marguliess plays arent only about what it means to be Jewish. In many ways, his families are Every families, populated with vaguely disaffected or rebellious children and frustrated, embittered adults. But the universal appeal of the work is expressed through historical and cultural references that give the pathosladen humor its edge. The success of Sight Unseen, which was commissioned and first produced by Californias South Coast Repertory in 1991 and enjoyed an eight-month run in New York under the auspices of the Manhattan Theatre Club in 1992, surprised even its author. Its perhaps the first time Id written a play with a hook, he says. The art-world aspect of the play really seemed to connect with the media, and I think helped promote the play, but it also gave people the wrong impression. There was a perception of it being a very cerebral play about art, whereas I see it as a play about lost love and lost values, ways of seeing and many other themes. A comparatively gentle play in the Margulies canon, Sight Unseen channels its more obviously Jewish themes (interfaith romance, the Holocaust) through the shifting, tenuous relationship between a successful artist and his former lover. If the characters in the playwrights earlier plays are haunted by the past, Jonathan and Patricia are, to a far greater extent, simply haunted by their own pasts. Margulies reflects this with a time-jumping structure that interlaces past and present, offering a refracted, collagist point of view. The art metaphor is one that Margulies, who was a visual artist before turning to playwriting, offers about his own work. I still do collage, its one of the last remnants of my art school years, he explains. I dont really deal with pragmatic concerns like whose play is this, whose point of view is this. Ive ceased to care about that stuff. Some people are upset by that, but I think it makes for an exciting experience, where youre not quite sure, and you decipher it as you see fit. .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .postImageUrl , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:hover , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:visited , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:active { border:0!important; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:active , .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .ufed5707b7704f68d47f23c269b99b00e:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: John Kelly: poet on a flying trapeze EssayDirectly or indirectly, Margulies has employed this collagist technique throughout his career. Styles vary widely from scene to scene, even within scenes. Absurdist leaps frame each days march toward another day that is just the same, only worse. Linking everything together are heightened visual images, tangible metaphors for the unspoken yearnings of the characters. Whats Wrong with This Picture?, first produced at the Manhattan Theatre Club in 1985, begins with a family sitting shiva for Shirley, their dead matriarch. Artie, the son, puts on his mothers dress in an attempt to communicate with his inconsolable father. (She wore th is to your bar mitzvah, Artie were not talking schmatte here. She danced in this dress. She shook and shimmered in it. She sweated in this dress. This dress was your mother, Artie.) Their mourning is interrupted when Shirley returns to clean house for her husband and son. What do you do when you get a second chance? Picture is about grief and healing, but Shirleys return offers no easy balm. Unutterable sadness   The Loman Family Picnic, which debuted at MTC in 1988 and recently enjoyed a superlative remounting there, is perhaps Marguliess most audacious play. Like much of the authors work, its set in 1960s Brooklyn and is about a desperately unhappy family. The mother, Doris, cuts up her wedding dress to make a Bride of Frankenstein Halloween costume. The youngest son is writing a musical comedy version of Death of a Salesman: Dads a little weird/Hes in a daze/Could it be hes going nuts?/Or is it just a phase? Once I decided to embrace the fact that I was not the first to write a play about a downtrodden salesman in Brooklyn with two sons, but rather that what Miller did contributed to the culture in which my family grewthat was tremendously liberating and artistically very exciting to me, Margulies says of the work, which began as a more overtly autobiographical play and evolved into a brazenly funny meditation on despair. One of the keynotes of Marguliess work is his use of theatrical fantasy to give voice to otherwise inarticulate characters, and The Loman Family Picnic contains scenes of literally unutterable sadness. Doris and her husband, Herbie, share their fantasies of each others deaths. There are three false endings (synthetic, in which Doris walks out; melodramatic, in which she jumps off the roof; and hackneyed, in which she runs into Herbies arms) before the play finally ends, as it must and as it began, with Doris and Herbie in silence. Margulies tells me about a production in which an unnamed name actress wanted him to switch the order of the endings, so the play could finish on an upbeat note. She just didnt get it. The men in Marguliess plays tend toward defeat and sadness, swallowing their rage until it pours forth in anger and desperation. The women are the life forces, restless and vital. When they cling to their dreams, its in the hope of some future goodsomething bigger and better than the lives in which theyve been trapped. Robin Bartlett, Madeline Kahn, Marcia Jean Kurtz, Florence Stanley and Chloe Webb have premiered roles in Marguliess playsall are actresses who can make you cry with laughter and look damn sexy doing it. They play women who are heart-wrenchingly vulnerable, but with spines of steel. Thanks in no small part to the success of Sight Unseen, The Loman Family Picnic and the rest of Marguliess works are having renewed on-stage lives. Next season, New Yorks Primary Stages will produce The Model Apartmentonly the second production of the play anywhere since its premiere at the Los Angeles Theatre Center in 1988. When hes not at work on a new script, Margulies is writing a movie for Robin Williams based on the autobiography of John Callahan, the politically incorrect quadriplegic cartoonist. But having a chance to revisit The Model Apartmentwhich juxtaposes Auschwitz and Miami, and uses the Holocaust as a metaphor for madness and moral responsibilityis especially gratifying.