Amanda: I really enjoyed all of her work. I noticed, though, in the beginning of this course her work was somewhat “choppy” (is that the right word?). After reading through her work for the entire course as a whole, I noticed that her pieces started to form into very fluid, and amazing work as progress went on. She had great reading responses, and I honestly enjoyed reading every single one of them. She has great key points in a lot of her writing, and it was truly noticeable in those reading responses. Also, her voice was a huge part in all of her work, which made it incredibly appealing to me. Thanks for sharing your work, Amanda.

John: The first thing I noticed about John’s writing was that he has an amazing way of expressing his opinion through a piece. He pushed a lot of voice through every piece, and it was very noticeable which makes his writing outstanding. The thoughts he expressed through his reading responses really triggered thoughts of my own, and I enjoyed that part of his work. My favorite piece of his would have to be his last paper; it was just so interesting and caught my attention well. Some of his blog posts were messed up, but other than that small detail, I had a lot of fun reading his pieces. Thank you for sharing your work with me, John.

Chantelle: I really liked her papers. I saw her voice shine through those more than anything else, and the one that caught my eye the most was her third paper. I was able to revise the paper for her in class, and it was just one that really caught my attention due to her memoir inside of it, and how interesting it was to me. After reading through the papers on the blog, I see her improving greatly. Her work flows more nicely now than ever before, and you can truly see that change in her last piece. Chantelle always caught my eye on her essays, and I really think that was her strongest point of this course. Thank you for sharing, Chantelle.

Kristin: Her voice was amazing throughout all of her pieces, and sometimes that’s hard to find in a writer. I honestly enjoyed her three papers the best. They were incredibly interesting to me, and I saw the most improvements within those pieces. From the first paper to the last paper I could see your work come together more clearly and thoughtfully and the final drafts really showed how well you put the revisions to the test. My favorite piece would have to be her memoir, it was just emotionally driven, and I really liked that about the piece. She really expressed her memory well and I enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing all of your pieces, Kristin.

A Reflection on Myself: It’s hard for me to critique myself on my writing pieces, but I think it’s safe to say that I have definitely grown as a writer. For myself, I really noticed how free I got with some of my papers, and it’s hard for me to come down to that level. To express myself fully to an audience. Taking this course and writing these pieces also hurt me. Before taking this class I was incredibly worried about exposing my work to classmates and just an audience as a whole. I hated how I was so shy with my writing, and I was definitely self conscious with everything. After reading through my work, I noticed that a lot of my worries were lifted off of them, and I could enjoy myself when I wrote for the class. I also realized that the revisions I had to go through truly changed the way I wrote a paper and that was such a great feeling seeing that difference come about in my writing. I’m excited for what’s to come in my future writing!

     It is effective to portray your point of view on a subject to someone when trying to persuade them by using your own biases. Your voice will be stronger if you use your own personal bias. In using that bias in such arguments, (i.e.: presidential candidates), you can basically get your point across more strongly and definite to the contrary side. Your voice helps to expose your opinions on certain subjects so that your audience can see the intention of the piece more clearly. When I write opinionated pieces, I tend to select arguments that I am most passionate about because I want to express the way I feel about my side of the argument. I want to show my readers that I am able to discuss what I feel. By using a bias within arguments, you are able to show your readers how well you can discuss upon a subject which shows them how well you are informed. When you show your audience that you have a strong voice, or bias, within your piece, then the audience trusts you and finds you as a reliable source.

     If you use bias incorrectly, it can have a counter effect on what you are trying to get across to your readers. If you are writing a research paper, you can’t have bias involved with it because it becomes a very opinionated piece if you do. You can’t say something like, “It’s obvious more people like dogs then cats, because all of my friends have dogs”, because well…you’re just saying you know a lot of people who own dogs, and you hate cat hair. With voice and biases within a research paper, you are left with a very opinionated piece. I feel that the only exception to not include a bias would be a research paper, since they only contain the facts and you must show each side of your argument equally.

     It’s obvious that bias is effective in most writing pieces except for the small exception of factual reports. As I stated before, it is effective to use it when you are trying to persuade someone to a point you are passionate about. If you use the biased voice and tone then your audience will find you as someone they will find you as a credible source to form their own opinions on the subject.

            Within A Journal of the History of Rhetoric: Rhetorica, John Muckelbauer examines and deeply analyzes the points and properties of imitation. He does this by exploring many different viewpoints from many other people’s reasoning and also uses evidence of his own to identify several points within the practices of this writing exercise. One of Muckelbauer’s main points towards the topic of imitation was if the practices and exercises of imitation still existed today. He considers many other writers’ variations of the subject to help him engage into this argument.

            Muckelbauer declares that “Imitation enables the Platonic nature of reality and its distinction between surface appearances and deeper truths…It grounds contemporary theories of representational language and even representational political formations.” He speaks highly of imitation only to contradict himself; “…it is very likely that anything this essay might claim to contribute will be nothing more than an imitation of something else.” I feel that Muckelbauer’s argument on whether to use the exercises within imitation or not is a powerful argument. Considering that inside the academic discourse we are taught few practices within the aspects of imitation. Muckelbauer believes that you are able to link the practice of imitation with the ethics of invention, although they still have slight oppositions. Within A Journal of the History of Rhetoric, Rhetorica, he also discusses amongst other writer’s opinions towards the issue of the similarities between imitation and invention. Richard McKeon discusses how the practices within imitation are so overly used that it has become “vague, inadequate, primitive, and its use involves a play on words when it does not lead to self-contradiction.” Even if some writers didn’t approve of the exercises of imitation, some writers were in opposition towards them and their beliefs about the practices.

            Just as Nietzsche had explained by using the terminology of God’s death, he explains that even if God died, or did not exist any longer, wouldn’t there still be caves that communicate the time of his existence? It is almost like saying that if within the academic discourse imitation disappeared and was not practiced, then would anyone still recognize the before existence? Mimesis, the power of appearances, or in a smaller term, imitation, would be considered now. If imitation did not exist, but it’s “shadow” still lingered within the community then Mimesis would still be able to take place, therefore allowing imitation to exist within this. Making it seem like invention wasn’t very different from imitation at all.

            One of the answers that Muckelbauer had been trying to determine in the beginning of A Journal of the History of Rhetoric: Rhetorica was barely answered within the evidence that he had supplied himself with. Whether imitation’s exercises still ensue today will still be argued thoroughly by many writers to come. Are we under just a mere ‘shadow’ of imitation, or does their practices exist within the writing discourse of today?

     As I sit here trying to determine the fate of this paper, this memoir, I can’t seem to glimpse back at an exact moment of my life that actually transformed my writing. To make matters worse, it feels like nothing has happened that changed my writing life that would reflect who I am now. Either I am a very boring, unappealing person, or I’m dealing with a loss of memory. All of this thinking though, makes me actually consider the few ideas and characteristics that I had never noticed about writing before, and an event sparks from this.

     My family wasn’t your typical family, of course. Families all seem to be dysfunctional these days. I was between three brothers and if that wasn’t hell on earth, then what was? My parents had their rocky relationship and it revealed itself too many times during my life at home. I was constantly aware of the feelings of my mom towards my dad and if that didn’t scare me, then the feelings that my dad had towards my mom definitely did.

     My mom is the undead hippie. She had made her own room in the basement of the house after an argument with my dad and that’s where she spends her time, still. My mom always seemed to find the greater good in a single person, but not my dad. She hated my dad. They are complete opposites and my dad is just too depressed for her. My dad is the sensible man of the house. He use to tease and joke with my brothers and I, but that stopped when we got older. He’s suffering from being bipolar and if you haven’t lived with that, consider yourself lucky. My parents were always so narcissistic as separate people and it was hard enough to be burdened with the incredible judgment they had towards each other than to just live with them.  I didn’t want to become the only person to hear their emotions towards one another but they seemed to just come to me, freely expressing how childish each other were, how inconsiderate and selfish they were. I wanted to ignore it. I did, for most of my life.

     I planned to ignore my parents for the time at home because if I didn’t I would mentally explode in front of everyone. I was incredibly grateful for the experience of college right around the corner. My first year of college was coming at me so fast, I couldn’t wait. I would finally be out of this personal hell of an embrace. I would leave the house, leave my unsteady parents, I would leave my unbelievably depressed younger brother. He might have been the only thing that I truly missed while away at school during that time. I began to think that being in college would let me escape from those people at home, still fighting until they got their own ways. I was wrong. I would get phone calls from my mom, mainly explaining the terrible things my dad had done earlier that day. I let her talk. I didn’t stop her. She didn’t care, I never seemed to notice or realize that about her. No one in my life had ever seen the enormous emotional build up that I had within, and I was really good at hiding my true feelings. I hated the fact that someone out there could possibly wait on me as I just spilled my heart out. That thought made me sick to my stomach. No one in their right mind should waste their time on my thoughts. That’s probably why I had become such a reliable source for my parents when I lived at home with them. I wouldn’t talk about anything.

     On breaks I would spend time at home, but that meant trying to find more creative excuses to use to visit with friends in town. The tension throughout the house had become threatening to me near the end of the last semester. We were sitting at dinner and the atmosphere of sheer terror and anger was so thick I could have used my butter knife to slice it in half. Before I had come home several events must have happened that my mom hadn’t shared with me yet, so I figured it would have to come out eventually. Later that night, it did. My younger brother and I were the only two siblings in the house now. My mom had pulled us aside upstairs in the dining room and finally exposed what she had been building up until now. She had asked for a divorce, and it came at me full force.

     Reading this you would think that I would have been perfectly okay with a divorce between two people who absolutely hated each other and had purposely hurt each other for the gain of themselves. I wish I could say the least. I cried, when the words spilled from her mouth. An automatic hatred for her washed over me and I couldn’t look at her. The state that my family was in was not a very good one during this time. They could barely bring money to the table for food and my younger brother was suffering from a manic depression, and he happened to be getting the worst of my parent’s childish behavior while I had been away. She made me sick, because once again she would be getting her way. She repeated so many times how she would make it work but…it wouldn’t work. My parents wouldn’t be able to sell the house and get a good deal because of the state of the economy. I knew that, my little brother knew that. I remember gripping at the couch in the front room, my teeth were clenched so hard I could hear a buzzing in my head and my mom was trying to grab my fingers away, to tell me that it would work out, with my support of her decision.

     Throughout my life I was constantly aware of my ability to pick up a pencil and just draw. Either it was the constant support of my mom, or the encouragement of teachers or even myself, I could always rely on my creative abilities through the arts to carry me farther. What I mean by this is that art was like a way out for me. I could escape to a different world, draw illusions for my head to trace back to. It was an escape from reality, more or less; it was my way out of the real world. Whenever I got into a difficult conflict that I had to face, I could draw out my emotional status at that point. My artwork reflects everything that has made me, me.

     I stared at my mom like she was absolutely insane. I wasn’t going to support her. I wasn’t going to support her, or my dad. They had both put me through this emotional turmoil ever since I was little! Why would I be okay with this? Why would this be a great idea after the conflicts my family had gone through countless times just to live? I remember storming down the stairs to my bedroom and the first thing I noticed was the one thing that had helped me express myself countless times before. My sketchpad and sharpened down pencil. I picked them up and before even deciding what to do with the blank piece of paper now in front of me, I began to scribble. Nothing was coming out of this. My emotions and my upset stomach wasn’t spewing onto the page like they had done before with other stupid things in the past that had affected me. I just started to scribble and make a large dark, almost black circle with my pencil. It angered me that I wasn’t getting the satisfying end of this emotional haze and I flipped the page over. A new, fresh, blank page.

     Then I began to write. I wrote down everything that I was feeling. I wrote down colors, feelings, tastes, anything that was coming to my mind. It became more of a jumbled scrap paper full of word vomit that didn’t make any sense what so ever. It was my mind on paper. I was hoping for a relief of emotion and it slowly came to me as I scribbled a few more words down. Sentences that I had been screaming through my head. I ranted about how my mom was a lunatic, crazy and egotistic. My dad was a stranger to me, a hidden identity that sat next to me at the dinner table.

Artificial, unreliable, self-absorbed, disgusting, pigs.

Help Me. Breathe.

     I have done my fair share of writing throughout my life. It was usually for the purpose of school work, or just plain creative writing pieces.  Something occurred to me just then, a closure swept over me and I had become infatuated with that piece of sketch paper. It was covered, smudged with writing of all different sorts and styles.

     I had never before seen writing as an escape route. I had always gone to my sketch pad, my artwork to advance my feelings and bottled up emotions onto a slice of paper. The one time I needed my artwork most, it didn’t help me. It complicated things; it made me frustrated because it hadn’t helped me. By actually writing out the words that ran through my head at that exact moment my parents had made the decision of getting a divorce, my feelings came out from my fingertips. It lines the paper’s edge with words that would just kill my mom if she ever read them. The paper now sits in a box under my bed, and that’s where it will stay.

     Considering it now, the event that had affected me the most within my life was the one thing that had triggered my greatest realization of how writing can overcome my artwork in quite a few ways. I’m a sophomore now in college and I declared as an English major upon my return to school. Not because I think it’s an easy way out, or because I didn’t have anything else to do. For English, I left my artwork behind me. My parents were shocked to find out what I had declared. Of course they have no idea what writing has done for me. I want to explore writing more now than ever.

     For now I have realized a true purpose for writing. A convincing generalization of low budget therapy. Writing has helped me grow; it has helped me emotionally connect with myself and others around me. Writing considered all of the deep and delicate flaws I had that had clogged itself in my mind, and turned them into strange yet beautiful pieces of words that illustrate the one and only me. Art could never compare to what writing has shown me, within the simplest of ways. I could always pick up my pencil and draw, but I can’t always relay the thoughts that emotionally stab me every day in that form.  In some ways, writing has become my art. It has become my artwork.

     As I sit here trying to determine the fate of this paper, this memoir, I can’t seem to glimpse back at an exact moment of my life that actually transformed my writing. To make matters worse, it feels like nothing has happened that changed my writing life that would reflect who I am now. Either I am a very boring, unappealing person, or I’m dealing with a loss of memory. All of this thinking though, makes me actually consider the few ideas and characteristics that I had never noticed about writing before, and an event sparks from this.

     I had never before seen writing as an escape route. I had always gone to my sketch pad, my artwork to advance my feelings and bottled up emotions onto a slice of paper. The one time I needed my artwork most, it didn’t help me. It complicated things; it made me frustrated because it hadn’t helped me. By actually writing out the words that ran through my head at that exact moment my parents had made the decision of getting a divorce, my feelings came out from my fingertips. It lines the paper’s edge with words that would just kill my mom if she ever read them. The paper now sits in a box under my bed, and that’s where it will stay.

     My family wasn’t your typical family, of course. Families all seem to be dysfunctional these days. I was between three brothers and if that wasn’t hell on earth, then what was? My parents had their rocky relationship and it revealed itself too many times during my life at home. I was constantly aware of the feelings of my mom towards my dad and if that didn’t scare me, then the feelings that my dad had towards my mom definitely did.

     My mom is the undead hippie. She had made her own room in the basement of the house after an argument with my dad and that’s where she spends her time, still. My mom always seemed to find the greater good in a single person, but not my dad. She hated my dad. They are complete opposites and my dad is just too depressed for her. My dad is the sensible man of the house. He use to tease and joke with my brothers and I, but that stopped when we got older. He’s suffering from being bipolar and if you haven’t lived with that, consider yourself lucky. My parents were always so narcissistic as separate people and it was hard enough to be burdened with the incredible judgment they had towards each other than to just live with them.  I didn’t want to become the only person to hear their emotions towards one another but they seemed to just come to me, freely expressing how childish each other were, how inconsiderate and selfish they were. I wanted to ignore it. I did, for most of my life.

     I planned to ignore my parents for the time at home because if I didn’t I would mentally explode in front of everyone. I was incredibly grateful for the experience of college right around the corner. My first year of college was coming at me so fast, I couldn’t wait. I would finally be out of this personal hell of an embrace. I would leave the house, leave my unsteady parents, I would leave my unbelievably depressed younger brother. He might have been the only thing that I truly missed while away at school during that time. I began to think that being in college would let me escape from those people at home, still fighting until they got their own ways. I was wrong. I would get phone calls from my mom, mainly explaining the terrible things my dad had done earlier that day. I let her talk. I didn’t stop her. She didn’t care, I never seemed to notice or realize that about her. No one in my life had ever seen the enormous emotional build up that I had within, and I was really good at hiding my true feelings. I hated the fact that someone out there could possibly wait on me as I just spilled my heart out. That thought made me sick to my stomach. No one in their right mind should waste their time on my thoughts. That’s probably why I had become such a reliable source for my parents when I lived at home with them. I wouldn’t talk about anything.

     On breaks I would spend time at home, but that meant trying to find more creative excuses to use to visit with friends in town. The tension throughout the house had become threatening to me near the end of the last semester. We were sitting at dinner and the atmosphere of sheer terror and anger was so thick I could have used my butter knife to slice it in half. Before I had come home several events must have happened that my mom hadn’t shared with me yet, so I figured it would have to come out eventually. Later that night, it did. My younger brother and I were the only two siblings in the house now. My mom had pulled us aside upstairs in the dining room and finally exposed what she had been building up until now. She had asked for a divorce, and it came at me full force.

     Reading this you would think that I would have been perfectly okay with a divorce between two people who absolutely hated each other and had purposely hurt each other for the gain of themselves. I wish I could say the least. I cried, when the words spilled from her mouth. An automatic hatred for her washed over me and I couldn’t look at her. The state that my family was in was not a very good one during this time. They could barely bring money to the table for food and my younger brother was suffering from a manic depression, and he happened to be getting the worst of my parent’s childish behavior while I had been away. She made me sick, because once again she would be getting her way. She repeated so many times how she would make it work but…it wouldn’t work. My parents wouldn’t be able to sell the house and get a good deal because of the state of the economy. I knew that, my little brother knew that. I remember gripping at the couch in the front room, my teeth were clenched so hard I could hear a buzzing in my head and my mom was trying to grab my fingers away, to tell me that it would work out, with my support of her decision.

     Throughout my life I was constantly aware of my ability to pick up a pencil and just draw. Either it was the constant support of my mom, or the encouragement of teachers or even myself, I could always rely on my creative abilities through the arts to carry me farther. What I mean by this is that art was like a way out for me. I could escape to a different world, draw illusions for my head to trace back to. It was an escape from reality, more or less; it was my way out of the real world. Whenever I got into a difficult conflict that I had to face, I could draw out my emotional status at that point. My artwork reflects everything that has made me, me.

     I stared at my mom like she was absolutely insane. I wasn’t going to support her. I wasn’t going to support her, or my dad. They had both put me through this emotional turmoil ever since I was little! Why would I be okay with this? Why would this be a great idea after the conflicts my family had gone through countless times just to live? I remember storming down the stairs to my bedroom and the first thing I noticed was the one thing that had helped me express myself countless times before. My sketchpad and sharpened down pencil. I picked them up and before even deciding what to do with the blank piece of paper now in front of me, I began to scribble. Nothing was coming out of this. My emotions and my upset stomach wasn’t spewing onto the page like they had done before with other stupid things in the past that had affected me. I just started to scribble and make a large dark, almost black circle with my pencil. It angered me that I wasn’t getting the satisfying end of this emotional haze and I flipped the page over. A new, fresh, blank page.

     Then I began to write. I wrote down everything that I was feeling. I wrote down colors, feelings, tastes, anything that was coming to my mind. It became more of a jumbled scrap paper full of word vomit that didn’t make any sense what so ever. It was my mind on paper. I was hoping for a relief of emotion and it slowly came to me as I scribbled a few more words down. Sentences that I had been screaming through my head. I ranted about how my mom was a lunatic, crazy and egotistic. My dad was a stranger to me, a hidden identity that sat next to me at the dinner table.

Artificial, unreliable, self-absorbed, disgusting, pigs.

Help Me. Breathe.

     I have done my fair share of writing throughout my life. It was usually for the purpose of school work, or just plain creative writing pieces.  Something occurred to me just then, a closure swept over me and I had become infatuated with that piece of sketch paper. It was covered, smudged with writing of all different sorts and styles.

     Considering it now, the event that had affected me the most within my life was the one thing that had triggered my greatest realization of how writing can overcome my artwork in quite a few ways. I’m a sophomore now in college and I declared as an English major upon my return to school. Not because I think it’s an easy way out, or because I didn’t have anything else to do. For English, I left my artwork behind me. My parents were shocked to find out what I had declared. Of course they have no idea what writing has done for me. I want to explore writing more now than ever.

     For now I have realized a true purpose for writing. A convincing generalization of low budget therapy. Writing has helped me grow; it has helped me emotionally connect with myself and others around me.

    Gates talks back in the memoir by speaking about the anger he has for his friend who is upset by being a part of the black society. he made his anger very clear and public, so it turned into a form of "talking back". Not only this, but the memoir itself is being read by a white society. he is using this ofrm of "talking back" to communicate his lifestyle towards this specific group.

     Voice is a complicated issue when it comes to writing; whether it is an argument, essay or novel, voice is what helps to convey the meaning to the reader. Voice presents the tone and mind set of a certain written piece, depending on how strong it is throughout it. For me, I was always reminded that voice was the style of your writing. You always needed to show how well you could address an argument with your personality to show readers how you really and individually felt about what side you were considering. Granted writers have fun putting voice into their pieces since it would make them feel like they were addressing the topic of the paper using real emotional appeal, as if they were speaking directly to their readers. What matters was that they have put something inside their paper that made the readers realize who they were, and what they were all about and how they addressed the argument, no matter what side the writer happened to be on. Of course, that was what was taught to me in my previous English courses, and what I had lived by to this day.

     Personally, I believe that if voice is the style of your writing, then you can write about any topic and still have the piece teeming with persona and eccentricity. To write a piece with voice, only within the context of substance, then you are left with very little room to actually spread your beliefs within the writing. It is possible for someone to write a somewhat dulled piece without any style what so ever which would be considering the context of content. Research papers and other documents as such come out sounding dry and without voice, most of the time, because you are left with little room to prove you even own a personality. At least, in most of my earlier English courses I was constantly hit on the wrist if voice was even whispered in such written assignments. I was never able to write the words “I think”, or “I believe”, which stopped voice from entering my essays at all. However, with your own style, you can form written pieces into something of your own, which is much better, and more fun to write. You are able to keep the content stable while maintaining a very appropriate voice which enlightened the piece you wrote.

     Corbett explains two methods on the practice of imitation. You can interpret writing many different ways, but to imitate writing means something else. Imitating an author’s substance would be keeping the author’s style but changing the content completely, or you may make it your own by writing in your own personal style. Within this paper, I will imitate an excerpt from “On Truth” written by Harry G. Frankfurt, because I feel that it is necessary to show how manageable voice is within the context of style. In this excerpt, Frankfurt is discouraging Spinoza’s definition of love and he shows how he particularly devours and interprets his definition. I felt that this would be a great excerpt to work off of with the imitation exercise because it holds a lot of voice; therefore, I will imitate the excerpt using my own style to expose it using my own voice.

     “Now if someone experiences happiness and realizes that the happiness has a specific outsider influence, like-if that someone notices another someone or something as an item to which he feels to owe his happiness and on which his happiness depends-Spinoza feels that this certain someone loves that item. Here is what Spinoza thinks love is: the manner we react to what we realize as causing us happiness. Then Spinoza feels that people cannot stop enjoying or loving what they realize as the item that makes them feel happiness. They love what they think encourages them to be more of themselves. I think now that Spinoza could be on the right path. You see many instances of love plan out the way he has defined it, which is how people begin to love the things that help them to be more themselves, and things that help that person look at life more respectively.”

     “Spinoza adds more to his definition which seems to also be on that right path. He figures that “One who loves necessarily strives to have present and preserve the things he loves” (Ethics, part III, proposition II, scholium). The items that someone loves are incredibly desirable to them. That person’s life depends on the significant other. So, that person makes sure to take care of them so they will always be there for them at their disposal.”

      I feel that the imitation exercise is a great tool to consider when writing. I’ve realized that voice cannot become one or the other, substance or style, but it can be both; mixed parts of each to create your own unique default. If you are able to find yourself in your own writing, then you have found your voice within it.

     After doing this imitation I found it, still, to be easier to write within the context of style. However, I also found myself trying to keep away from Frankfurt’s specific style and his way of writing within his own piece. For some reason even if I had changed the words and mechanics to fit my own style of writing, I was constantly trying to wash off any part of writing that relished within his personal style. It was like I was at a constant battle with Frankfurt while imitating this excerpt.  Therefore, I believe that using both, content and style should be considered when writing within the context of voice. If you use both content and style, then you are given a piece that is formed only on voice. Therefore, you have created a piece that will work within the context of voice, a strong and more definite piece.

     I have come to this conclusion because I find it more difficult now to just base an imitation exercise on just style. Substance is needed if you plan on making your writing clear with voice; however style is what your writing will also need for it to express your emotional appeal on that specific topic. At first I never realized how difficult it could be, making something your own without really covering the complete meaning of the passage you are trying to convey while using the imitation exercise. With the use of both, style and substance, you are able to create something that is of your own which will shed an incredible amount of voice onto your piece of written work, creating something that is from your own persona and views.

     Voice is a complicated issue when it comes to writing; whether it is an argument, essay or novel, voice is what helps to convey the meaning to the reader. Voice presents the tone and mind set of a certain written piece, depending on how strong it is throughout it. For me, I was always reminded that voice was the style of your writing. You always needed to show how well you could address an argument with your personality to show readers how you really and individually felt about what side you were considering. Granted writers have fun putting voice into their pieces since it would make them feel like they were addressing the topic of the paper using real emotional appeal, as if they were speaking directly to their readers. What matters was that they have put something inside their paper that made the readers realize who they were, and what they were all about and how they addressed the argument, no matter what side the writer happened to be on. Of course, that was what was taught to me in my previous English courses, and what I had lived by to this day.

     Personally, I believe that if voice is the style of your writing, then you can write about any topic and still have the piece teeming with persona and eccentricity. To write a piece with voice, only within the context of substance, then you are left with very little room to actually spread your beliefs within the writing. It is possible for someone to write a somewhat dulled piece without any style what so ever which would be considering the context of content. Research papers and other documents as such come out sounding dry and without voice, most of the time, because you are left with little room to prove you even own a personality. At least, in most of my earlier English courses I was constantly hit on the wrist if voice was even whispered in such written assignments. I was never able to write the words “I think”, or “I believe”, which stopped voice from entering my essays at all. However, with your own style, you can form written pieces into something of your own, which is much better, and more fun to write. You are able to keep the content stable while maintaining a very appropriate voice which enlightened the piece you wrote.

     Corbett explains two methods on the practice of imitation. You can interpret writing many different ways, but to imitate writing means something else. Imitating an author’s substance would be keeping the author’s style but changing the content completely, or you may make it your own by writing in your own personal style. Within this paper, I will imitate an excerpt from “On Truth” written by Harry G. Frankfurt, because I feel that it is necessary to show how manageable voice is within the context of style. In this excerpt, Frankfurt is discouraging Spinoza’s definition of love and he shows how he particularly devours and interprets his definition. I felt that this would be a great excerpt to work off of with the imitation exercise because it holds a lot of voice; therefore, I will imitate the excerpt using my own style to expose it using my own voice.

     “Now if someone experiences happiness and realizes that the happiness has a specific outsider influence, like-if that someone notices another someone or something as an item to which he feels to owe his happiness and on which his happiness depends-Spinoza feels that this certain someone loves that item. Here is what Spinoza thinks love is: the manner we react to what we realize as causing us happiness. Then Spinoza feels that people cannot stop enjoying or loving what they realize as the item that makes them feel happiness. They love what they think encourages them to be more of themselves. I think now that Spinoza could be on the right path. You see many instances of love plan out the way he has defined it, which is how people begin to love the things that help them to be more themselves, and things that help that person look at life more respectively.”

     “Spinoza adds more to his definition which seems to also be on that right path. He figures that “One who loves necessarily strives to have present and preserve the things he loves” (Ethics, part III, proposition II, scholium). The items that someone loves are incredibly desirable to them. That person’s life depends on the significant other. So, that person makes sure to take care of them so they will always be there for them at their disposal.”

     I feel that the imitation exercise is a great tool to consider when writing. I’ve realized that voice cannot become one or the other, substance or style, but it can be both; mixed parts of each to create your own unique default. If you are able to find yourself in your own writing, then you have found your voice within it.

      After doing this imitation I found it, still, to be easier to write within the context of style. However, I also found myself trying to keep away from Frankfurt’s specific style and his way of writing within his own piece. For some reason even if I had changed the words and mechanics to fit my own style of writing, I was constantly trying to wash off any part of writing that relished within his personal style. It was like I was at a constant battle with Frankfurt while imitating this excerpt.  Therefore, I believe that using both, content and style should be considered when writing within the context of voice. If you use both content and style, then you are given a piece that is formed only on voice. Therefore, you have created a piece that will work within the context of voice, a strong and more definite piece.

      I have come to this conclusion because I find it more difficult now to just base an imitation exercise on just style. Substance is needed if you plan on making your writing clear with voice; however style is what your writing will also need for it to express your emotional appeal on that specific topic. At first I never realized how difficult it could be, making something your own without really covering the complete meaning of the passage you are trying to convey while using the imitation exercise. With the use of both, style and substance, you are able to create something that is of your own which will shed an incredible amount of voice onto your piece of written work, creating something that is from your own persona and views.

     Opening a Dictionary would become my first choice to discover new words. I also realized it would be a very good idea to teach myself better traits for my penmanship. I felt ridiculous—it was impossible for me to write in a straight line. Because of the two ideas I had surrounded myself with, it pushed me to grab a dictionary.

     The process of getting started with the dictionary took me about two days. I had no idea that some of the words were real! I also had no idea what I needed to learn. I decided to start copying the dictionary.

     Even though my handwriting took more time then I intended I made sure to copy everything I saw. This process took roughly one day to complete. After I finished, I then read what I had wrote to myself. I made sure to repeat this step; re-reading my own handwriting.

     When the morning came I was relieved, and very proud of myself. I had learned many new words, and I was happy that I could remember the words’ meanings. If I couldn’t remember a meaning, I would go over it again until I could. Now that I’m thinking about the long process, I remember reading about a strange African mammal, the aardvark.

     After starting this long project, I couldn’t stop. I went on to learn the B’s now. After this, I discovered that this would be the way that would copy the entire dictionary. Since I had enough practice with the process already, copying the rest of the dictionary went relatively quicker for me. Copying the dictionary, I wrote about a million words.