teacher training

so this is my extremely exciting blog on that extremely exciting story we had to read, teacher training. it was so exciting i could hardly contain myself. lol i didn't like the story, personally I thought it was bad, it wasn't my style at all, and I couldn't follow the breakdown of the writing. It just made it less interesting for me to read, but I read it, and i also read the thing called Composing Teacher Training, to see where the author was coming from, but still, it wasn't interesting at all to me. It might be fun to write a story like that, however if people had the reactions I did to my story of a similar nature, then I wouldn't be interested in writing one like that at all.
REVISION:
I found the dragon in my story, about the little girl inside, so I have to go back and redo the whole thing, leaving some parts in touch. I can't say I'm really excited about that because it's like starting all over again, but I guess I have some good material that I can work with, after all, I want to be a writer and that's what writers do.
BTW, here is one of my stories posted for y'all to read, there homies.



FIRST DAY



English 192
September 9th, '08
Assignment #2


My first day of kindergarden was rather distressing, by far one of the most traumatizing moments of my juvenille years. It was the first time I had left the house, the first time I had left my parents. It was the first time I had left, period, and frankly, I did not want to leave.
Arrival seemed to ellicit the worst of memories, with arrival at my childhood's door being by far the most difficult.
The teacher's name was Miss Eastern, and she was a tall, dark woman with a flowing green dress and a melancholy grin. I did not know what I was in for, I did not know what to think besides, "where am I?"
The halls were alight with fresh-made paintings and the glow of children's gap-toothed grins. I remember how times felt then, with their flashes of smiles, what a shame mine was not one of them.
My mother walked me slowly down the stairs, to the spot where the kindergarden classroom was proudly located, away from the rest of the rooms. We were already late, and so the other children were gathered in the classroom, around a small television set with cartoons flashing across the screen and the smell of freshly-baked popcorn wafting through the air.
Approaching the doorway, Ms. Eastern's remarkably gorgeous dress was blowing in the direction of the small plastic ceiling fan that was hanging on the wall, right inside the door. Sweat poured down my face, and my mother's white-sleeved hand carefully dabbed it off with a swipe of the handerchief she always carried with her. I wiped it away, and started moving quickly backwards toward the stairs, but she caught me before I had time to get very far.
"You're coming, " she pronounced, with a slight tone of satire in her voice.
I had to groan, there was not much I could do, this had to happen.
Ms. Eastern walked slowly toward us, with the school record book crooked lightly under one arm.
"And you must be Alicia." She moved slowly toward us, as I moved slowly back.
"You are not as late as you might think, " she told us. "Class started only a few minutes ago, the children are just watching some televison the first day. You will get to introduce yourselfs, and then we will do some coloring." Ms. Eastern winked at us.
I wanted to cry, but I held it in.
"Come on, lets go into the classroom, Geggy," my mother said.
The tears were still hiding behing my closed, mascar-ed eyelids. My mother had made me over that morning, complete with red-painted nails that matched my teachers.
" Come on, Alicia," she looked at me, and it appeared that tears were flowing out of her eyes as well.
I did not want to go, to be there with the other children, so I did not budge. I stood there, and I waited for the inevitable. This would recquire force.
"I'm not going in, mama."
"Honey, you have got to go in. You are already late for class."
I was a 4-year-old, and my 4-year-old self was almost as stubborn as the self that exists today. Only then, I had an excuse. I was younger. What could these people do to me?
I was a rock, and I wasn't moving.
By now, we had been standing outside the clasroom door for more than 20 minutes. Children were staring at me, the teacher was getting tired, but I wasn't moving, and they couldn't break me down.
An early sign of obstinacy, and it stuck.
"I have to go sweetheart."
My mother kissed my forehead.
"No, don't go, mama," I had to urge, but the moment had passed. With a quick kiss and an even faster swipe of her own tears, she was off, leaving me in the hallway with Ms. Eastern in her garment of flowing green silk. I have to believe that dress was the only thing that made me smile that day; I have always wanted one like it, and am still waiting for a dress as beautiful as that, but I was rather distracted at my mother's tears.
Now, there was not a chance I was going in there.
"Alicia," the teacher started to urge, but I was a rock.
No one was breaking me down.
Eventually, she got the students to plead for my entry, but that didn't work.
She continued to beg, and invited the principal in to beg for her, but they could not break me down. I was a rock.
Eventually, they gave up, and I stood there alone in the hallway, for the rest of the school day.
And it happened the next day as well.
My mother's tears bothered me; I didn't want to be what felt like alone in a classroom when she was home crying without me. I had always been close to her, and this feeling was the worst.
I adjusted my backpack and walked inside the third day, finally.
I had built up my confidence, and I was going in.
But they couldn't break me down, and that has never changed.


any suggestions, y'all can holla @ me.
and no, for the record, I don't really talk like that.
holla back.