WA-3 Final: What About Peace?

My heart sped as I walked towards the front of the class. Today was the day I had been dreading for the past week. I hated speaking in front of my classmates and now I had to present my essay in front of everyone. Adding to the stress, I was very sensitive about what I was going to read to the class. My grandfather died in World War I. Seeing the grief-stricken look on my father’s face every anniversary of my grandfathers death broke my heart. I stared at my peers, their eager faces made mine go into shock. I decided to be safe and just read my essay instead of improvising a presentation.

"War is unavoidable and unpredictable. It is a devastatingly bitter event that occurs when any sort of uprising occurs from conflict," I read. I read the words, unaware of their actual meaning. I couldn't concentrate on anything more than the typed letters on my paper and the curious look on my teacher's face. As I read my essay, the tension in my muscles began to ease. I finally finished my paper and the class began to clap as I headed towards my seat.

"Hold on, Janie," my teacher said as the clapping seized. "I have a question for you before you take a seat. If war is unpredictable, then what about peace?"

I froze...What about peace? I repeated his words over and over in my head. There was nothing in my paper about peace. I gave no thought to peace when I was writing my essay. What was I supposed to say?

I finally opened my mouth, ready to say the first thing that popped to my mind. "Peace....Peace is well, Peace is glory. Peace is beauty. Peace is rare and must be treasured." I was unsure of my words as they came from my frightened mouth. I looked over at my teacher. He nodded and I took my seat.

I flowed through the rest of the school day, only thinking of my teacher’s question. "What about peace?" In history, we had been talking about the science of war. I came to a conclusion that it was part of the human race to disagree and to fight. I wrote this in my essay. I was right about one thing but my teacher’s question still made my mind spin with thoughts about peace. It had a different meaning, a different significance now, but what was it? Could something so terrible lead to something so wonderful? If war was avoidable and simply did not exist, then peace would not exist. If there was no war and there was always peace, then is it really peace? I thought about that for a little while before deciding what exactly I believed. Without war, we can never have peace.

WA-3 Second Draft: What About Peace?

My heart sped as I walked towards the front of the class. Today was the day I had been dreading for the past week. I hated speaking in front of my classmates and now I had to present my essay in front of everyone. Adding to the stress, I was very sensitive about what I was going to read to the class. My grandfather died in World War I. Seeing the grief-stricken look on my father’s face every anniversary of my grandfathers death broke my heart. I stared at my peers, their eager faces made mine go into shock. I decided to be safe and just read my essay instead of improvising a presentation.

"War is unavoidable and unpredictable. It is a devastatingly bitter event that occurs when any sort of uprising occurs from conflict," I read. I read the words, unaware of their actual meaning. I couldn't concentrate on anything more than the typed letters on my paper and the curious look on my teacher's face. As I read my essay, the tension in my muscles began to ease. I finally finished my paper and the class began to clap as I headed towards my seat.

"Hold on, Janie," my teacher said as the clapping seized. "I have a question for you before you take a seat. If war is unpredictable, then what about peace?"

I froze...What about peace? I repeated his words over and over in my head. There was nothing in my paper about peace. I gave no thought to peace when I was writing my essay. What was I supposed to say?

I finally opened my mouth, ready to say the first thing that popped to my mind. "Peace....Peace is well, Peace is glory. Peace is beauty. Peace is rare and must be treasured." I was unsure of my words as they came from my frightened mouth. I looked over at my teacher. He nodded and I took my seat.

I flowed through the rest of the school day, only thinking of my teacher’s question. "What about peace?" In history, we had been talking about the science of war. I came to a conclusion that it was part of the human race to disagree and to fight. I wrote this in my essay. I was right about one thing but my teacher’s question still made my mind spin with thoughts about peace. It had a different meaning, a different significance now, but what was it? Could something so terrible lead to something so wonderful? If war was avoidable and simply did not exist, then peace would not exist. How could there be peace with no war? If there was no war and there was always peace, then is it really peace? I thought about that for a little while before deciding what exactly I believed. War defines peace.

WA-3 What About Peace?

My heart sped as I walked towards the front of the class. Today was the day I had been dreading for the past week. I hated speaking in front of the class and now I had to present my essay in front of the whole class. Adding to the stress, I was very sensitive about what I was going to read to the class. My grandfather had died in World War I. Seeing the grief-stricken look on my fathers face every anniversary of my grandfathers death broke my heart. I stared at my peers, their eager faces made mine go into shock. I decided to be safe and just read my essay instead of improvising a presentation.

"War is unavoidable and unpredictable. It is a devastatingly bitter event that occurs when any sort of uprising occurs from conflict," I read. I read the words, unaware of their actual meaning. I couldn't concentrate on anything more than the typed letters on my paper and the curious look on my teacher's face. As I read my essay, the tension in my muscles began to ease. I finally finished my paper and the class began to clap as I headed towards my seat.

"Hold on, Janie," my teacher said as the clapping seized. "I have a question for you before you take a seat. If war is unpredictable, then what about peace?"

I froze...What about peace? I repeated his words over and over in my head. There was nothing in my paper about peace. I gave no thought to peace when I was writing my essay. What was I supposed to say?

I finally opened my mouth, ready to say the first thing that popped to my mind. "Peace....Peace is well, Peace is glory. Peace is beauty. Peace is rare and must be treasured." I was unsure of my words as they came from my frightened mouth. I looked over at my teacher. He nodded and I took my seat.

I flowed through the rest of the school day, only thinking of my teachers question. "What about peace?" In history, we had been talking about the science of war. I came to a conclusion that it was part of the human race to disagree and to fight. This made me rethink all my previous knowledge of peace. If war was avoidable and simply did not exist, then peace would not exist. I thought about that for a little while before deciding that that was what I thought about peace. Peace is wonderful and filled with hope, but peace is because war is.

WA-2 Final (Character and Setting)

The rough cement scratched his jeans as he sat playing his brand new Les Paul. The warm sunshine glistened on the smooth orange-yellow finish of Ace's guitar. A drop of sweat slowly fell along the side of his forehead passing his light hazel eyes and continuing down his face till it disappeared under the edge of his jaw bone. But still, he kept playing. Ace plucked the strings of his guitar with his bright blue pick. His fingers were arranged in complicated sequences along the neck. Each strum created a wave of the ocean swimming across the vast, open fields and sidewalks of the park. He strummed slowly, then quickly, playing an old rock tune. Down, down, up, down.

Passerby’s ears turned to search for the sweet sound of the tune bouncing around the trees and gardens filled with white daisies and colorful flowers. A couple cuddling in the bench across the wide sidewalk watched as a small crowd gathered around to listen. They whispered to one another, one talking and pointing, the other nodding.

Do they hate my music?...Ace thought as he watched a small boy place a bill in the case lying beside his right leg. Another lady walked up and he heard coins hitting the smooth black velvet in his case. Clink-a-clunk. He thought again, I hope not. He began to sing. A soft tune flowed from his mouth, like the sweet song of a hummingbird fluttering in the nearby trees. He continued playing. A larger crowd had gathered to watch. All eyes were on Ace but he didn't let that get to him. He kept strumming and singing. His heart raced as still more people gathered. He spoke, "Thank you", when a break in the verses came and as more people dropped money into the open mouth of his case.

Ace looked into the crowd again to see some one pushing his way to the front. It was a round man, with broad shoulders and a rough face. He wore gasses framed with thick black. He watched Ace with beaming eyes till he finished his song. "That was great. Good going, kid." Ace paused, surprised at the man's comment. Ace had never played in the park before. He didn't expect such a crowd. The man spoke again. "I'm from International Records on 6th and Main. I would love if you stopped by some time. Just ask for Johnny Rehnolds." The man handed over a small card. Ace rubbed his thumb over the man's name, number, and the outline of a black globe. It had a large ‘I’ in the center with ‘International Records’ written under it. Ace was still in shock as he packed the lucky guitar into his case.

He gathered the money, shoving it into his pocket. It would take too long to count all the coins in the park so he raced out of the gate, which made a break in the low stone walls that outlined the park's edge. He walked quickly into the racing traffic of rush hour. He dodged cars as he ignored the lights over the crosswalks that signaled pedestrians to cross by showing the white lit man in a half running position. Car honks flew at Ace like an eagle grabbing its prey. But still he continued. He hurried home. A smile was planted across his face from nearly ear to ear. It never left his face as he anxiously practiced a new song to play in the park tomorrow.

This was only the beginning.

WA-2 Second Draft (Character and Setting)

The rough cement scratched his jeans as he sat playing his brand new Les Paul. The warm sunshine glistened on the smooth orange-yellow finish of Ace's guitar. A drop of sweat slowly fell along the side of his forehead passing his light hazel eyes and continuing down his face till it disappeared under the edge of his jaw bone. But still, he kept playing. Ace plucked the strings of his guitar with his bright blue pick. His fingers were arranged in complicated sequences, unnatural to a foreigner of music. Each strum created a wave of the ocean swimming across the vast, open fields and sidewalks of the park. He strummed slowly, then quickly, playing an old rock tune. Down, down, up, down.

Passerby's ears turned to search for the sweet sound of the tune and bouncing around the trees and off the couples sitting on the benches. A small crowd gathered around to listen. They whispered to one another, one talking and pointing, the other nodding.

Do they hate my music?...Ace thought as he watched a small boy place a bill in the case lying beside his right leg. Another lady walked up and he heard coins hitting the smooth black velvet in his case. Clink-a-clunk. He thought again, I hope not. He began to sing. A soft tune flowed from his mouth, like music flowing off a page. He continued playing. A larger crowd had gathered to watch. All eyes were on Ace but he didn't let that get to him. He kept strumming and singing. His heart raced as still more people gathered. He spoke, "Thank you", when a break in the verses came and as more people dropped money into the open mouth of his case.

Ace looked into the crowd again to see some one pushing his way to the front. It was a round man, with broad shoulders and a rough face. He wore gasses framed with thick black. He watched Ace with beaming eyes till he finished his song. "That was great. Good going, kid." Ace paused, surprised at the man's comment. Ace had never played in the park before. He didn't expect such a crowd. The man spoke again. "I'm from International Records on 6th and Main. I would love if you passed by. Just ask for Johnny Rehnolds." The man handed over a small card. Ace rubbed his thumb over the man's name, number, and the outline of a black globe. It had a large ‘I’ in the center with ‘International Records’ written under it. Ace was still in shock as he packed the lucky guitar into his case.

He gathered the money, shoving it into his pocket. It would take to long to count all the coins in the park so he raced out of the gate, which made a break in the low stone walls that outlined the park's edge. He walked quickly into the racing traffic of rush hour. He dodged cars as he ignored the lights over the crosswalks that signaled pedestrians to cross by showing the white lit man in a half running position. Car honks flew at Ace like an eagle grabbing its prey. But still he continued. He hurried home. A smile was planted across his face from nearly ear to ear. It never left his face as he anxiously practiced a new song to play in the park tomorrow.

This was only the beginning.

WA-2 First Draft (Character in Setting)

The rough cement scratched his jeans as he sat playing his Les Paul. The warm sunshine glistened on the smooth orange-yellow finish of Ace's guitar. A drop of sweat slowly fell along the side of his forehead passing his light hazel eyes and continuing down his face till it disappeared under the edge of his jaw bone, but still, he kept playing. Ace plucked the strings of his guitar with his bright blue pick. His fingers were arranged in complicated sequences, unnatural to a foreigner of music, creating waves of the ocean swimming across the vast, open fields and sidewalks of the park. He strummed slowly, then quickly, playing an old rock tune. Down, down, up, down. Curious passerby's ears turned to search for the sound of the sweet tune playing and bouncing around the trees and off the couples sitting on the benches. A small crowd gathered around to listen. They whispered to one another, one talking and pointing, the other nodding. Ace watched...Do they hate my music? He watched a small boy place a bill in the case lying beside his right leg. Another lady walked up and he heard coins hitting the smooth black velvet in his case. Clink-a-clunk. He thought again, I hope not. He began to sing. A soft tune flowed from his mouth, like music flowing off a page. He continued playing. A larger crowd had gathered to watch. All eyes were on Ace but he didn't let that get to him. He kept strumming and singing. His heart raced as still more people gathered. He spoke the words, "Thank you", when a break in the verses and chorus came as more people dropped money into the open mouth of his case. Ace looked into the crowd again to see some one pushing his way to the front. It was a round man, with broad shoulders and a rough face. He wore gasses framed with thick black. He watched Ace with beaming eyes till he finished his song. "That was great. Good going, kid." Ace paused, surprised at the man's comment. Ace had never played in the park before. He didn't expect such a crowd. The man spoke again. "I'm from International Records on 6th and Main. I would love to hear from you." The man handed over a small card. On it, was his name a number and a black globe with a large I in the center, International Records written under it. Ace was still in shock as he packed the lucky guitar into his case. He gathered the money, shoving it into his pocket. It would take to long to count all the coins in the park so he raced out of the gate, adjacent to the low stone walls that surrounded the park. He walked quickly into the racing traffic of rush hour. Dodging cars, he could barely wait for the lights over the crosswalks to show the white lit man in a funny walking position. Car honks flew at Ace like an eagle grabbing its prey. But still he continued. He hurried home, anxious to practice a new song he could play in the park tomorrow, with a smile that never left his face. This was only the beginning.