In Stephen King’s memoir On Writing, King compares the process of crafting long works of fiction to “crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a bathtub.” Easy for him to say, considering his bathtub is equipped with a high-performance engine.
With the release of Taylor Swift’s most recent album, most of my free time not spent writing essays has been devoted to watching her music videos on repeat until the wee hours of the morning.
I spent most of my senior year burdened by the weight of making the “right” college choice — as if there was one gilded school that ensured me four blissful years of happiness.
Anyone who’s kept up with my columns this semester will have detected two general themes: etymology and shopping.
I confess: I am 20 years old and my favorite part of the weekend is going to church on Sunday mornings.
It was a frigid Friday night and Littlejohn’s was the only thing on my mind between 2 and 3 a.m.
For my high school newspaper, I once wrote a column about how soccer moms with stickers like “my dog is smarter than your honor student” are ruining America.
Several weeks ago, I wrote a column musing about how to shop for men after a botched attempt to please my housemate with a bacon bowl.
At dinner with friends the other night, I posed the question, "If you could only pick one issue to address for the rest of your life, what would it be?" The responses ranged across continents and species.
My grandmother is one of the most beautiful women I know. She spends her days pouring herself into her community with so much energy and joy, preparing meals for people who are sick, coordinating holiday toy and clothing drives and heading a monthly senior luncheon at her church.
I’ve always wondered what reaction I’d be met with if I offered to pay for a guy’s drink at a bar. It’s become a well developed and heavily romanticized image in my head.
It’s at least an hour too early in the morning and my calculus professor is explaining three-dimensional functions in a calming, rhythmic voice.
Two weeks ago, driving in the car with my friend, I realized just how lucky I am to currently be in college.
There is a certain mystery to an unfamiliar package. Yesterday, I purchase I made three years ago on Kickstarter arrived on my doorstep.
As friends begin to receive offers and chatter circulates around interviews and applications, I’ve begun to feel the pressure mounting. Still, I’ve managed to avoid putting pen to paper and writing my first cover letter.
I have slowly and subconsciously made sure that images of owls surround me at all times. Whenever I need to set an image icon or site key it is an owl.
There are two types of spenders: the Mr. Krabs and the Squanderer. The Mr. Krabs is distinguished by chronic neck and back pain due to a lumpy mattress stuffed with oodles and oodles of cash.
As a relatively young driver and avid street crosser, getting honked at is a common occurrence.
While I did not enjoy much about the college road trips that peppered the last two years of my high school experience, I was at least sure of one thing: every time I folded myself into the back seat of my parent’s car and took off towards another campus tour, I would be return with a new piece of college paraphernalia.
There is a website called whypandassuck.com that serves as a hub for all literature on why Pandas are good for approximately nothing.
