Carson Adams Jana Richards Period 6 9/16/13 Literary Reflection My identity as a writer has remained largely the same

over the course of my life and has consisted of mainly an informal ritual, meticulous precision, and extensive revision. These traits allow to me write naturally while remaining strict to the logical premise I operate on. Ritual literally prompts a level of physical comfort, and is almost wholly mundane. Precision provides a state of mental comfort that appeals to my neurotic and analytical nature. Finally, the revision process gives me emotional comfort in which I can write rapidly in long explications knowing that I will later finalize and continual polish the main ideas that I passionately write. These qualities are essential to my writing and my voice as an author and an essayist. Clear a space before all else; dress appropriately and unobtrusively; assemble utensils and instruments; obtain beverage of choice; eliminate reality entirely; stare and think; write furiously. The ritual is complete, and the writing may begin. Space is absolutely necessary in order to properly begin the writing process. If adequate desk space is not created to place a laptop, pens, pencils, notes, etc., then the entire process cannot begin. Even if the space exists but is overly crowded, my constant bumping of objects in the vicinity will drive me to physical insanity. Dress is fundamental as clothing can determine temperature, itchiness, and general looseness. Objects in pockets or bulges of fabric can ruin my focus. Next, before the ideas can even begin to flow and the process feels well under way, the necessary tools of the trade must be well lied out on the

space cleared. If even one necessary object is missing, the writing cannot begin as I feel woefully underprepared in such a state of loss. Perhaps most oddly but physically intense to me is the need for a beverage of some kind to sit in some far corner of the tabletop available in the rare case that my focus breaks long enough to reach for it instead of continually working. This drink must absolutely not be water or juice, for they are either too dilute and tasteless or notably pronounced in their ability to change the flavor of my mouth in an instant. Now, the physical comfort I feel from being entirely closed off from reality has much to do with my natural tendency to turn my head compulsively at any and all noises, open doors, and movements. Bedroom door must be closed, headphones must be in, and, preferably, no one is in my immediate or extended vicinity. Reality is so gross in detail; my writing aims to be precise and fine. Finally, after a quick heading, the page must be looked at with intense thought for perhaps at least a few minutes while thinking of ideas and generally contemplating plans, utensils, and obligations. Once this thought process is complete, little remains but to write furiously in a manner and timeliness appropriate for such a preparation. This ritual underlies my nature as a writer as it provides details about a deeper, more personal fact- one that is better exposed in my painstaking precision and revision. Precision is to be exact and complete. The ideas I express in writing must be in full and perfect reflection of my actual thoughts or arguments. To generalize in an essay is to lie for the sake of laziness, ignorance, or for its own sake; perhaps some of the most sinful qualities a writer can have. The words written in brisk black letters must become more than a collection of pixels or ink jets through excellent and exceedingly precise statements, explanations, and explications. The elaborate structure of many of my sentences can be blamed upon this simple mental frustration: any statement that is in some form incomplete, easily misunderstood, or even

purposefully interpreted incorrectly tears me to intellectual pieces. I do not crave to write works that are easily given in brief, flowing speeches of grandeur and generalities that masses flock to as a beacon of perfect proposition. I seek to write that which individuals may point to with near perfect genuineness as an explication they agree with on every conceivable level without explanations, excuses, or allowances described to validate the work as a good example of their beliefs. I crave for someone to allow my work to act as a manifesto for their independent beliefs that is ultimately a complete argument made with perfect and detailed precision. This mental comfort I seek is an actualization of my internal thoughts in a form that is independent from my explanation or further exploration; something for which my purpose and stance are clear and prominently so. In this way, my works become immortal snapshots of my state of mind. Punctuation, grammar, phrase structure, word choice, paragraphical order, and font choices all play significant roles as methods of revision for my process as a writer. Although the process of revision is highly intellectual, the real relief achieved through extensive revision does not fully come during the review process as a mental comfort, rather, it comes while writing as an emotional net, perhaps as an emotional filter. It is the self-made promise of revision that allows the constant flow of ideas without the need for constant attention to be given to point-ofview, tense, and grammatical structure. The flow of these thoughts often outlines the scaffolding on which the larger, more refined argument builds. In order to lay this skeleton down and with great stability, it must all be done quickly without constraint or the usual pedantic precision that dominates my work. The emotional nature of the argument is unconsciously supported by the logical progression that allowed me to reach said emotional conclusion, so it makes excellent sense to predict that when this apparently emotional and conceptual skeleton is laid down, the

motivating logic will surface with only slightly more examination. It is at this point that the revision process completes the task of precision so heftily given to it while supporting the emotional and ideological processes that inspired the piece. Essentially, the structure of my writing aims to provide level of physical, mental, and emotional comfort. This need to remain comfortable is an odd primary hinderance as a writer, but it also provides me with excellent strategies to write more concisely and poignantly than I could if not for being so neurotic.