I want to rewrite my life. If I could go back and change things, I don’t know where I would start. I know I wouldn’t be the same person I am now. But maybe that’s a good thing.
rewrite everything. rewrite your past, your mistakes. re-do everything you ever wanted to do again. Where does that land you?
perfection?
hardy. There will always be a moment you want to change.
I have to rewrite everything. I am really mad and really annoyed. That was my homework. All if my homework. Somebody cleaned my desk. All I have is the first rough draft.
Rewrite is another tip in writing. To polish your work to perfection. Perfect. How could some other student in school do really good on paper? Should I go talk to them? But I’m not good in making friends either.
Rewriting is a hard thing to sell to kids. They hate doing something twice. They never think they really need to change what they’ve written the first time. They can’t type, and that means writing everything again by hand. And revision is the same as editing in their minds.
He wrote most of the lyrics in a rage, and would probably rewrite them if he had the chance now. It is never a good idea to do anything permanent in the heat of the moment.
Festive. f-e-s-t-i-v-e. Festive. It smells like mistletoe and holly berries, it looks rather green and red, and it feel like the fluffiest snow on the most magical white Christmas there ever was.
Sitting in front of my computer screen, bleary eyed, exhausted, and typing frantically. I glance at the clock; it’s two in the morning. I swivel my head back towards the computer and rub my eyes. I delete a paragraph and begin to write another repeating the cycle I had started at seven o’clock this morning.
I’m rewriting my entire future because now that you’re gone everything has changed. Nothing that I thought was true is. Nothing that I thought would happen will. Now that you’re gone, all I’ve got is my past and my present. I’ve scribbled out my dreams and scribbled out my hopes. It’s time for a new beginning, I’d say.
if i could rewrite life, i would.
not all of it.
just parts
like tivo.
although really redo. rewrite. scratch out and start over.
like this morning.
freaking out at work.
REWRITE that
i’d be so grateful.
I long to see the days.
where life was simple
a mere kiss upon existence
was enough to entice the world.
Yet now poisoned lips persist
doused in deception and evil.
yet i can over come
and rewrite what i’ve written
“This is isn’t like one of your stories, Tamsin. You can’t just rewrite your mistakes,”
“But I can fix this. I CAN,” she said, reaching for her hand. “If you’d just let me-”
“No, I can’t ‘just let you’ back in again. I can’t and I won’t,” she turned away. “You’ve broken my heart once; wasn’t that enough?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Kaylah, please. I wanna make this right,”
We write and write and rewrite – and thats okay. We cannot demand perfection instantaneously. Or if we can, we cannot expect to be fulfilled. A rewrite is the natural progression of learning that what you are now is better than what you were before.
“Shit. SHIT.” It wasn’t good enough. I balled up yet another sheet of paper and chucked it so hard that one side of it flattened before landing in the trash. I wasn’t good enough.
I rewrite these passages over and over, trying to find the right thing to say. But what if theres nothing left i can say? What if we reached the epitome of our love? The end. Could it be? I sit here and think the world away. It is only you who makes me feel this way.
Over and over again, I tried to perfect the letter. I wanted the perfect words, the perfect explanation, yet an air of mystery still left behind. Each time I rewrote this, I pictured myself lying on my bed, still as if I was sleeping. But I knew I wouldn’t wake up. Somehow the thought of oblivion calmed my chaotic mind enough for me to perfect the last words I’d ever have on this earth.
I wish I could rewrite many things. One would be to rewrite my life. I wish I could rewrite all the bad out of it and stick some good into it. I wish I could write down what worlds to say and when to say them. I want to say perfect phrases to all of those I have cared about, instead of dumb teenage things.
Rewrite everything of your life. If you don’t like it, just change it. Erase the past, erase what you have done, said, or thought. None of it counts today. Just leave it all behind. Make your life new. That’s all you really have to do. Don’t worry about the past. It’s the present and the future that can rewrite your life. Take a moment to realize that what you erase is gone.
Rewriting is an often overlooked process. My father always used to hound me about how I did not see the importance of rewriting in my schoolwork. Often, we know rewriting will make our work better, but we choose to take what we have because we are lazy.
life has provided me with a new year
in the twists of the universe i was given a clear
chance to rewrite the chapters of this story
i felt stuck in an vast ocean like a lone buoy
now i know i can end with a new beginning
i had always let everything remain like a still life painting
for so long i let go of that inner sight
and up until now i had never felt right
no more will i be an island in a sea of sadness.
So i shaped him with words,
with sounds, and long even letters
he moved across pages, across worlds
that i could only barely touch
he had that no-good-stare
when i could stand to face him,
and then he stuck-out his tongue
and told me to rewrite.
she sat down with a paper and a pen. the paper was already filled with strokes of ink. they were supposed to form letters, but they suddenly looked foreign. the words were not words anymore. she was meant to rewrite this strange phenomenon, and write she did. stokes of ink to form foreign letters.
“I don’t understand. You want me to rewrite the entire essay?”
I nodded from behind my desk. The pencil I was trying to sharpen just wasn’t being cooperative.
“You clearly showed no comprehension of the very book you were reporting on,” I remarked. “You didn’t even get the setting, or even the protagonist’s first name.”
“Sure I did,” my lowest scoring student protested. “He’s Bob.”
“No, he’s not. He’s Bartleby, and that’s not even the protagonist.”
I love rewriting. It’s the best part of writing which is probably why I can get to rewriting so seldomly. I think I’m just stuck in a scycle of rewriting and rewriting until it gets better, but I doubt I have a whole draft. Probably something closer to pieces of a daft. I wonder if I could stitch them all together, but that seems more like writing that rewriting. I just want to print out my work and highlight and change and see what I need to fix. I need to develop characters better, the three friends dfinitely. Sehr came along nicely and i think Rion has found his own footing too. Laval is singularly awesome and Selene has her backbone.
they thought about rewriting them, the words that bound their love together, the words that were the starting seed fort he plant they have both been taking care of ever since. Their vows were the most important words they ever wrote in their lives and the most special words they will ever write.
there is something about rewriting. A part of our soul melting with the one of the original writer. A dream becoming not only his or her dream, but ours as well. I love rewriting. It makes me feel like I know more than I actually do. I am more than me.
Rewrite is the kind of thing you do after you realize Hemingway was write, that the first draft of anything is shit. This, of course, pisses on Salesforce.com’s philosophy, the idea that you need to get things done fast. It’s like writing for content, writing for search engines, like you’re dominating algorithms, dominatrix-estilo, bro. Stylo, said Shaq, Fu the return, churn rate out of bounds like college football two feet.
She sighed, her boss was a maniac, and never let up on the work.
“Mary! Have you finished the rewrite of the document?”
That was her boss, a short and stout old man, who enough problems to fill up the empire state building and a cursing streak worse than her grandfather who was addicted to gambling.
Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Nothing is ever final. Everything is just another draft.. a better draft.. a draft that could be better. Not even this is final. I may look back at this and think.. hey.. I should rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Nothing is ever final.
“You really need to work on editing this.”
I sigh, this is the fourth student today who I really just want to say ‘scrap it, and start over; you’re missing the point!’
But we’re very focused on the editing process here. So we commence the upteenbillionth rewrite of this two page essay, and we’ll see if it gets any better this time.
Oh my God. I’ve got to do a rewrite. I can’t. I quite simply can’t. It’s taken all my imagination and creativity to get this out and I can’t possibly think of it in a different way.
she keeps breaking pencils. they slip between fingers hard as ice and cold. she wants to pull out the splinters of the poem but her pencils keep breaking.
He stared blankly at the page that was covered in red ink. “Rewrite for a better grade” was written in giant, bold lettering at the top. The “F” right next to it sent a stutter in his heart. He groaned in frustration and ground his teeth.
A lot of people have to rewrite their stories again and again, but I usually prefer to leave my stories raw. The way I wrote them when I was over flowing with impatience and hoping that the story would continue in my head. Rewriting is good if you are looking to hand in your story as an assignment, but if not then that raw piece of writing is always more interesting to me.
she cursed loudly and crumbled her third piece of paper, deciding to rewrite the letter again. there were streaks of mascara mixed with tears dried on her face, wetting again as fresh tears spilled over her eyes. but she had to do it; she had to leave him, even if it would be the hardest thing she’ll ever do.
again and again until the margins need to be resized in my brain.
squeeze squeeze, no flow.
let’s make lemonade instead of inane essays.
i sip ink from the nib and make a face.
sour, so very sour.
I want to rewrite my life. If I could go back and change things, I don’t know where I would start. I know I wouldn’t be the same person I am now. But maybe that’s a good thing.
rewrite everything. rewrite your past, your mistakes. re-do everything you ever wanted to do again. Where does that land you?
perfection?
hardy. There will always be a moment you want to change.
To rewrite my history would be to run away from the future ahead of me.
To rewrite myself would be to cower at who I will be.
I have to rewrite everything. I am really mad and really annoyed. That was my homework. All if my homework. Somebody cleaned my desk. All I have is the first rough draft.
Rewrite is another tip in writing. To polish your work to perfection. Perfect. How could some other student in school do really good on paper? Should I go talk to them? But I’m not good in making friends either.
Rewriting is a hard thing to sell to kids. They hate doing something twice. They never think they really need to change what they’ve written the first time. They can’t type, and that means writing everything again by hand. And revision is the same as editing in their minds.
He wrote most of the lyrics in a rage, and would probably rewrite them if he had the chance now. It is never a good idea to do anything permanent in the heat of the moment.
Festive. f-e-s-t-i-v-e. Festive. It smells like mistletoe and holly berries, it looks rather green and red, and it feel like the fluffiest snow on the most magical white Christmas there ever was.
Sitting in front of my computer screen, bleary eyed, exhausted, and typing frantically. I glance at the clock; it’s two in the morning. I swivel my head back towards the computer and rub my eyes. I delete a paragraph and begin to write another repeating the cycle I had started at seven o’clock this morning.
I’m rewriting my entire future because now that you’re gone everything has changed. Nothing that I thought was true is. Nothing that I thought would happen will. Now that you’re gone, all I’ve got is my past and my present. I’ve scribbled out my dreams and scribbled out my hopes. It’s time for a new beginning, I’d say.
if i could rewrite life, i would.
not all of it.
just parts
like tivo.
although really redo. rewrite. scratch out and start over.
like this morning.
freaking out at work.
REWRITE that
i’d be so grateful.
I long to see the days.
where life was simple
a mere kiss upon existence
was enough to entice the world.
Yet now poisoned lips persist
doused in deception and evil.
yet i can over come
and rewrite what i’ve written
“This is isn’t like one of your stories, Tamsin. You can’t just rewrite your mistakes,”
“But I can fix this. I CAN,” she said, reaching for her hand. “If you’d just let me-”
“No, I can’t ‘just let you’ back in again. I can’t and I won’t,” she turned away. “You’ve broken my heart once; wasn’t that enough?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Kaylah, please. I wanna make this right,”
We write and write and rewrite – and thats okay. We cannot demand perfection instantaneously. Or if we can, we cannot expect to be fulfilled. A rewrite is the natural progression of learning that what you are now is better than what you were before.
“Shit. SHIT.” It wasn’t good enough. I balled up yet another sheet of paper and chucked it so hard that one side of it flattened before landing in the trash. I wasn’t good enough.
I rewrite these passages over and over, trying to find the right thing to say. But what if theres nothing left i can say? What if we reached the epitome of our love? The end. Could it be? I sit here and think the world away. It is only you who makes me feel this way.
Over and over again, I tried to perfect the letter. I wanted the perfect words, the perfect explanation, yet an air of mystery still left behind. Each time I rewrote this, I pictured myself lying on my bed, still as if I was sleeping. But I knew I wouldn’t wake up. Somehow the thought of oblivion calmed my chaotic mind enough for me to perfect the last words I’d ever have on this earth.
I wish I could rewrite many things. One would be to rewrite my life. I wish I could rewrite all the bad out of it and stick some good into it. I wish I could write down what worlds to say and when to say them. I want to say perfect phrases to all of those I have cared about, instead of dumb teenage things.
Rewrite everything of your life. If you don’t like it, just change it. Erase the past, erase what you have done, said, or thought. None of it counts today. Just leave it all behind. Make your life new. That’s all you really have to do. Don’t worry about the past. It’s the present and the future that can rewrite your life. Take a moment to realize that what you erase is gone.
Rewriting is an often overlooked process. My father always used to hound me about how I did not see the importance of rewriting in my schoolwork. Often, we know rewriting will make our work better, but we choose to take what we have because we are lazy.
life has provided me with a new year
in the twists of the universe i was given a clear
chance to rewrite the chapters of this story
i felt stuck in an vast ocean like a lone buoy
now i know i can end with a new beginning
i had always let everything remain like a still life painting
for so long i let go of that inner sight
and up until now i had never felt right
no more will i be an island in a sea of sadness.
So i shaped him with words,
with sounds, and long even letters
he moved across pages, across worlds
that i could only barely touch
he had that no-good-stare
when i could stand to face him,
and then he stuck-out his tongue
and told me to rewrite.
paint
gain
what
useful
hungry
yesterday
happy
nobody
alone
try
again
just
written
pencil
sheet
book
friend
love
reply
see
she sat down with a paper and a pen. the paper was already filled with strokes of ink. they were supposed to form letters, but they suddenly looked foreign. the words were not words anymore. she was meant to rewrite this strange phenomenon, and write she did. stokes of ink to form foreign letters.
“I don’t understand. You want me to rewrite the entire essay?”
I nodded from behind my desk. The pencil I was trying to sharpen just wasn’t being cooperative.
“You clearly showed no comprehension of the very book you were reporting on,” I remarked. “You didn’t even get the setting, or even the protagonist’s first name.”
“Sure I did,” my lowest scoring student protested. “He’s Bob.”
“No, he’s not. He’s Bartleby, and that’s not even the protagonist.”
“Just let it slide!”
I sneered. “I would prefer not to.”
I love rewriting. It’s the best part of writing which is probably why I can get to rewriting so seldomly. I think I’m just stuck in a scycle of rewriting and rewriting until it gets better, but I doubt I have a whole draft. Probably something closer to pieces of a daft. I wonder if I could stitch them all together, but that seems more like writing that rewriting. I just want to print out my work and highlight and change and see what I need to fix. I need to develop characters better, the three friends dfinitely. Sehr came along nicely and i think Rion has found his own footing too. Laval is singularly awesome and Selene has her backbone.
Nevermind.
they thought about rewriting them, the words that bound their love together, the words that were the starting seed fort he plant they have both been taking care of ever since. Their vows were the most important words they ever wrote in their lives and the most special words they will ever write.
there is something about rewriting. A part of our soul melting with the one of the original writer. A dream becoming not only his or her dream, but ours as well. I love rewriting. It makes me feel like I know more than I actually do. I am more than me.
Rewrite is the kind of thing you do after you realize Hemingway was write, that the first draft of anything is shit. This, of course, pisses on Salesforce.com’s philosophy, the idea that you need to get things done fast. It’s like writing for content, writing for search engines, like you’re dominating algorithms, dominatrix-estilo, bro. Stylo, said Shaq, Fu the return, churn rate out of bounds like college football two feet.
She sighed, her boss was a maniac, and never let up on the work.
“Mary! Have you finished the rewrite of the document?”
That was her boss, a short and stout old man, who enough problems to fill up the empire state building and a cursing streak worse than her grandfather who was addicted to gambling.
Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Nothing is ever final. Everything is just another draft.. a better draft.. a draft that could be better. Not even this is final. I may look back at this and think.. hey.. I should rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. Nothing is ever final.
She finished the last word of her essay with a flourish. She knew she wouldn’t have to rewrite it; it was already perfect. If it was long enough.
“You really need to work on editing this.”
I sigh, this is the fourth student today who I really just want to say ‘scrap it, and start over; you’re missing the point!’
But we’re very focused on the editing process here. So we commence the upteenbillionth rewrite of this two page essay, and we’ll see if it gets any better this time.
Oh my God. I’ve got to do a rewrite. I can’t. I quite simply can’t. It’s taken all my imagination and creativity to get this out and I can’t possibly think of it in a different way.
she keeps breaking pencils. they slip between fingers hard as ice and cold. she wants to pull out the splinters of the poem but her pencils keep breaking.
He stared blankly at the page that was covered in red ink. “Rewrite for a better grade” was written in giant, bold lettering at the top. The “F” right next to it sent a stutter in his heart. He groaned in frustration and ground his teeth.
You copy text. When you can see one text you write the same on new peaper.
A lot of people have to rewrite their stories again and again, but I usually prefer to leave my stories raw. The way I wrote them when I was over flowing with impatience and hoping that the story would continue in my head. Rewriting is good if you are looking to hand in your story as an assignment, but if not then that raw piece of writing is always more interesting to me.
she cursed loudly and crumbled her third piece of paper, deciding to rewrite the letter again. there were streaks of mascara mixed with tears dried on her face, wetting again as fresh tears spilled over her eyes. but she had to do it; she had to leave him, even if it would be the hardest thing she’ll ever do.
again and again until the margins need to be resized in my brain.
squeeze squeeze, no flow.
let’s make lemonade instead of inane essays.
i sip ink from the nib and make a face.
sour, so very sour.