ENGLISH ESSAY Class 3. My School. The paragraph below is just a guideline for you to help you write your own essay in your own words. When you are asked to write about your SCHOOL, try to include some of the following points: 1. name of your school. 2. location. 3. class in which you study. 4. how you go to school Sep 25, · Simple Essay on My classroom for class nursery, lkg, ugk, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and In our classroom, we read peacefully. 10 lines, 50, , , words Estimated Reading Time: 2 mins Jan 28, · My School Essay Words. My school is a big building, having 3 floors. It is painted in red colour. The school is like a temple where we go to learn. We are taught to respect our elders. The first thing is the morning assembly where we say our prayers and sing the national anthem. There are 7 periods in total with two short breaks and a lunch blogger.comted Reading Time: 6 mins
My School Class3 English Essay Paragraph
Artistically talented students from around the state spend two or three of their high school years in dedicated pursuit of their art—dance, drama, music, visual arts, or creative writing—along with their academic curriculum. I wrote about it here. I asked Scott Gould, a creative writing teacher at the school, class 3 my school essay, if he would ask his students to write me a short essay about their school.
This was a wide-open request; I wanted to hear whatever perspective the students wanted to offer about their experience at the school. Among the essays the students submitted, here are three of my favorites, unedited and untouched. My mother called on Sunday to tell me our herd of goats, previously twenty-one strong, had been reduced to three. Two feral dogs squeezed through a hole in the pasture fence and killed anything they could catch.
My parents and brother arrived during the massacre. My father jumped the fence to chase the dogs and shot the slower one with a pistol. On his way back, he heard a few scattered bleats and followed the sounds. In a gully, he found two billies and the last nanny.
They had survived by shoving themselves into class 3 my school essay abandoned chicken coop. Afterwards, my family walked among the carcasses--once white, now bloodstained and caked with rain-softened clay. We wanted to find life, my mother said. They gave up at four in the afternoon, and my father and brother made a pile of the bodies in the woods, to be buried later.
Phone calls like this are common now. I've been in a boarding school since August, and every weekend my mother seems to find something new to break to me. It's not always bad. The weekend before, she called to tell me my brother enrolled in a birding retreat on the South Carolina coastline. And before that, she told me about the new color she picked for the living room walls. I'm still not used to this kind of communication. I miss immediacy. A year ago, when I still lived with them, I would know all this.
She wouldn't have to tell me two or three days later. I'd like to say I've adjusted, but I haven't. The Wednesday after the goats died, she called again. She told me she couldn't shake what she had seen, class 3 my school essay. She worried. Would the dogs' owner show up? How about the surviving dog? What if he came back? She hadn't been sleeping, and when she did, she dreamt of the bloody bodies, the torn sides of a billy, the kids crushed into the mud. I told her I knew how she felt, but I don't.
I don't think it's possible. She sent me only one picture of the scene, a close-up of the surviving nanny's nose, ripped open by the dog's teeth. The rest I have to imagine. I imagine the dogs—Brown? I imagine stumbling kids. I imagine the deputy who arrived a few hours later, gray-haired and perhaps a slow talker. None of it is certain. I still sleep easily. That's the cost of our separation: her anxieties don't travel the phone lines, and I can't make myself care.
But I want to care. Some days I only want to be home, in the ranch-style with green siding and the stump in the front yard, which is the only remnant of the rotting oak my family cut down without me. I'd walk to the pasture with my father, take the shovel he offers me, and dig with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, a hole big enough to put all eighteen dead goats under three or four feet of orange clay.
Then, we return home, and I sit in the living room next to my mother, tell her she can sleep now. Even hours into the night, after she has gone to bed, I sit, surrounded by lamplight and the color of the freshly-painted walls, three coats of Townhouse Tan, and listen to my brothers. They lie side-by-side on the hearth, class 3 my school essay guidebook open before them, and take turns class 3 my school essay names to each other: bobwhite, cardinal, tufted titmouse.
In the heart of South Carolina, class 3 my school essay, the railroad tracks converge over swampland, and fields are laced with cotton in the Dog Days of early August. The summer heat rolls in, unstoppable and rests between cypress knees and Spanish moss.
The people seem to fall victim to a cycle of poverty, of being class 3 my school essay sixteen what their parents were at eighteen, what their own children will be at fourteen. The place is called Florence, and I lived there for sixteen years before moving three hours away to study creative class 3 my school essay at a boarding school. Downtown Greenville is an arts community, with performing centers and theaters, galleries, art festivals and craft fairs, and restaurants willing to provide venues for writing club readings or jazz band performances.
Not only is the atmosphere different, but the entire landscape: from my dorm room, I can see the hazy silhouette of mountains. To make something strange, beautiful, something important. Every story I write takes place in some type of Florence, with its tangible sensation of heat trapped in the swamp, the perpetual presence of desperation.
Going home on breaks, or for the summer, has altered my perspective of Florence. Instead of seeing tragic figures living in a never-changing place, I see characters full of complexities living in a place as undecided as they are.
Once, the chain-link fence covered in hubcaps was ugly. But now I see it as armor, protecting the women on the porch, who sip sweet tea and watch another fistfight unfold in the street, those men who wordlessly understand the ritual required to live here.
I forget how strange my school sounds to the rest of the world until I leave it. On a card at the front desk inside a college admissions building, I am told to write the name of my high school. But on the first day of school here it is made clear that I was chosen based on potential, and not necessarily talent.
I live in Simpsonville, South Carolina only a fifteen minute drive from downtown Greenville. Still, all these kids know about my school are rumors. I try to explain to them that yes, I have real school work on top of art work. Hey, hey, there are a few republicans. Like, two, maybe? I class 3 my school essay realize that the magic of this school is lost as soon as I try and pin words to it. I stop coming home for Friday night football games.
I choose, instead, to stay on campus. There are two creative writing classrooms that make up our department. Each is packed with books and long desks and computers. Monday through Thursday, we stay in the rooms after hours to get work done, but on Fridays, we kick our shoes off and run around to celebrate the weekend.
We lay on the desks and talk to each other and laugh until our sides ache. We share secrets and stories and we belong to these rooms, to the spines of our favorite books on the bookshelves. We belong to each other. There are, of course, the nights when AP Chemistry keeps me up until four in the morning.
There are the days where workshop is brutal, and I never class 3 my school essay to write another word again. There are those scary moments where I feel that the pressure is too much and I fantasize about going to regular school. The sound of his voice spins up the flights of stairs, bouncing off walls in wistful echoes. It calms me. Dance, dance, to pass, class 3 my school essay.
It is only necessary. I am a terrible dancer, but in this moment, I dance shamelessly. When the crowd is satisfied with my moves, they cheer, and finally part, letting me into the building, welcoming me home. Skip to content Site Navigation The Atlantic. Popular Latest, class 3 my school essay. Sections Politics Ideas Photo Science Culture Podcasts Health Education Planet Technology Family Projects Business Global Events Books Fiction Newsletters.
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My school-10 lines essay in english -- 10 lines my school essay
, time: 5:34SPECIAL (3+) My School Essay for class 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 - 12th
Dec 04, · Short Essay on My School of Words. I am an obedient student of Modern High School, Ballygunge, Calcutta. It is one of the well-acclaimed schools of Calcutta. It was established on 3 rd January to encourage education among girls primarily. It is a CISCE council aided school. I am currently reading in class 3. The main motto of my school is the implementation of strict discipline, Apr 17, · My School Essay for class 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 & 12th, in about words, based on the outlines. Do you consider your school to be an ideal one?Estimated Reading Time: 4 mins Mar 09, · What My School Means to Me: Essays from 3 High Schoolers. How students at an unusual school think—and write—about their experience. By Deborah Fallows. March 9, blogger.comted Reading Time: 6 mins
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