try #1... [rough draft, not finished...]

for a writing group, "Women's Literary Union," we have to write something (3-5 pages) on the topic of whether or not good/bad experiences are created by our point of view.

there are many different aspects to the topic, and I've started writing like 8 different things. I hate them all.
so I'm going to try to type them and see what happens from there.

I'd love criticism, but I know they suck... so.. only constructive criticism please.

please keep in mind these are ROUGH DRAFTS....

this one seems to be a little too abstract, going off-topic.

Outline:
a screen begins to grow on this first-person girl
- looks back at old pictures- sees it faintly
- soccer game as example
- sees everyone has it
- can control it by wearing fresh "clothes"
- clothes have gotten old, wet, dirty

try to deal/see situations without screening
-go on with life

everyone is self-orientated so situation= good/bad depending on possible benefits (does it make me look good? what do I get?)

I have declared myself sick. Troubled, though I am young and ordinary. According to James, I'm older than my age, because nobody wants to date many years their minor. The doctor reported that I'm not sick, and my parents agree I'm just going through a phase. Supposed by my teachers, I'm far from ordinary; they say I'm "talented" and will do "great things," but I have felt as plain as the blank paper on which I can never finish what I start to write, up until the past couple months.

(ALT: Supposed by my teachers, I'm far from ordinary. They say I'm "talented" and will do "great things," but I have felt as plain as blank paper- until last month.)

I began to feel it right after I watched a news special on how a dog was put down for biting a 7-year-old boy. I remember immediately agreeing with my mom's verdict "what a relief" it was that the monster would never harm anyone else ever again, but later that night, I couldn't dissuade my thoughts from pitying the owners of the dead dog and silently accusing the bitten child of provoking the animal to react in violence.

That next morning, I was aware of something hard growing inside my stomach, trying to surface itself through my skin. Just the odd familiarity of the sensation made me panic, and I racked my brain as to why I knew it. At first I thought maybe it was just a bizarre recovery process in dealing with how James moved away, but the pain was different. Abandonment makes my head throb; it is an ache and it creeps between chest bones, but the new sickness began as a thick, heavy feeling, and grew into a physical square shape pushing sharply through my stomach. It seemed to be attaching to my ribs and suffocating my organs, and whenever I hear about another's situation, frigid air penetrates through my shirt aimed at it. If I lie on my back, I can see its outline, but when I tried to show my mom, she misunderstood that I was calling myself fat. Apparently, I am the only one who can see it, which is why I believe myself crazy.


..........continue