Professor Ugoretz and Classmates,

It is very difficult for me to write a cover letter for my short story. My short story is in essence, a cover letter. I wrote about how the process was for me to do this assignment. I struggled but not because the assignment was difficult but because of my own brain. It is a mix of all my emotions and my constantly going brain, but one that does not constantly think about what it should. I want to note that this story was written in one take, I only read it over to fix spelling and grammatical errors. I think editing it would take away from what I was trying to show.

I am still proud of what I wrote because it is raw and real, and today those things are lacking in writing. Writing can be so very impersonal but, writing to me is something incredibly personal. Usually I can’t bring myself to write about what I really want to because my brain stops me from it, or my heart, or even my hands. Some of this is seen in the story you are about to read but keep in mind that literature cannot express everything. I have come to the conclusion, as I write this cover letter, that the I haven’t yet found the right words for what I want to say so I am waiting patiently for them to come. Maybe then the rut will end.

It takes me great restrain not to input something funny into a serious paper. When I write essays for classes, I like to include something witty but end up taking it out because its not the academic thing to do but I find it funny and refreshing. If I become a professor one day, I want my students to do just that. I took this short-story as a way to say witty things but I did also restrain myself because that is just what I am used to. I hope you do laugh in some moments and hope you are also incredibly confused in others. This short story is a landscape into my mind and you are not supposed to understand everything.

I did deep thinking at some point within the short story, those moments stick out and are usually marked by me stating I did some deep thinking. I won’t delve much into them because they will become very evident and apparent. I also want to leave room for the mystery.

The short story you about to read is very direct and doesn’t hide much, although it hides what I do not want to share. It is both open and closeted off. The short story you are about to read is one of many contradictions and ironies but it is a story nonetheless. It is the ramblings of a teenage girl in the middle of her finals and at the end of her first semester at college.

I formatted the essay a specific way because it is what I found appealing to to eye and here is a link to the format:

The Process of Writing a Paper; The Angelica Format

However, it may be difficult to read so here is a “properly formatted version”:

The Process of Writing a Paper; Correct Format

Or, you can read everything if you click read more.


Angelica Goldberg


The Process of Writing a Paper

By: Angelica Goldberg

She sat in her bedroom attempting to write. She jotted down ideas and small paragraphs of nonsense but nothing came to her. She felt devoid of the spark she used to have. She had been in a writing rut for a week now. Every time she sat to write she would stare at her laptop and nothing else. Her body would be frozen like an icicle to a roof edge. Maybe she was thinking to hard and had to relax, but the time was slowly running out. She had to write. She had to turn an assignment in, but she had nothing to turn in but some scribbles on a piece of paper. Is that art? Maybe my thought process can be considered art, she thought as a last resort. Just write a bunch of words and try to bullshit your way through it. Make everything sound deep and repeat every other word.

Or maybe, I can just write about the things around me and what I’m thinking about. It’s raining furiously. I don’t know what shoes I’m going to wear. My sneakers ripped so I can’t wear those. By some miracle I got my rain boots dirty. I don’t even know how that’s possible. Story writing one-oh-one: go off on tangents.

My brain hurts when I try to think so much like I’m doing know to write this story. I hear the air inside by brain and it’s the weirdest feeling. I don’t know if it’s stress or something different. It makes me feel like an airhead.

Just write this essay already! It’s not that hard. Put some words on paper, go to the thesaurus and change them all and make them sound fancier. And then just insert very before every adjective and increase your word count.

It’s still raining and time is running out. She has 45 minutes to write a paper and still doesn’t know what it’s going to be about. She looks at the pictures she took about the assignment, the various things learned in class. She considered doing a Tosca revisited but was worried at how dark that would be. She remembered a poem she wrote before, and it rhymed which was a rare occurrence that would fit well. But, how would she fit that into art. And that story would take too long to do. Why did she wait until the last minute? But she really didn’t. She was thinking everyday for an idea but none came. Her initial one was to do something about a ballerina working hard but she had too much time to do research which means she didn’t do any. She has no idea what any of the dance moves are and can’t write something inaccurate.

Well, I did find out my idea and this is it. I am going to make an attempt to show my thought process while attempting to write this story. I’m going to title it incredibly appropriately: The Process of Writing a Paper.

When I was in the library the other day, I had about an hour left between my classes to work on my story. Still, no idea ran through my mind 45 minutes later so I began to write how I was feeling and the things around me. It turned so dark and twisty I didn’t want to go further. I made my friend read it. She liked it and even sent it to herself. I don’t know why. It was riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. It wasn’t perfect. I like my writing to be perfect. But, it was real and I like my writing to be real.

I’m not sure if I should paste what I wrote here. Sure it would increase my word count but so would saying that I would very very very very very very very much like to finish this story. Does this even count as a story: sure it has words and a sort-of-kind-of flow and and idea to it but its not really a story. Is it creative or is it just lazy? It’s most definitely unique and has lots of expression. I’ll give myself that. I spelled definitely wrong and spellcheck didn’t even realize the word I wanted, apparently they thought I meant defiantly. See, that word I know how to spell right. I heard that definitely is one of the most misspelled words in the English language. And while I was writing that sentence, I misspelled, misspelled (twice). I’m using my own advice here: going on tangents.

I’ve decided to include some of what I wrote in the library. I think its vital to understanding my thought process or lack thereof. But first, I need to ask a question that just popped into my mind. Is this essay story thing gutsy? How much guts do I need to submit it and for it to actually do well? I know I need to present it in class but I don’t have to submit it till 11:59pm so I can write a whole new story and nobody will even know. That is, if I don’t present. I guess we’ll see.

She sat in the library, painfully aware of all the pages being turned, that screeching sound of pens writing, the ruffling of plastic bags, that incessant chatter of those around her. She wanted to scream and tell them all to shut up she can’t concentrate. But, that was not why she wanted to scream. In truth, it was not them, with their eyes focused on their laptops and notebooks and phones, but it was something deeper she never wished to share with anyone. She felt alone…

And that’s were it stops because then it gets dark, and I’m too reserved to share. It’s all the normal feelings of a teenage girl who just spent an hour googling methods to solve a physics questions she had no clue how to do.

I’m going from first person to third person and it must be confusing but I’m not about to change it. It wont reign true to the thought process. I’m also not going to change any of the writing, one take, that’s all. All that will be changed is spelling and grammar, but the writing is all me, in one take, no editing. Story writing one-oh-one: say everything twice.

I read further into what I wrote previously in the library and it became super deep but I like it. I’ve removed a sentence or two from it but I’m pasting it here. It is part of my writing process; barely edited.

A shiver ran down her spine, prompting her to remember a story from years’ prior when some extra religious spiritual person said that the shivers are actually ghosts going past you. She swore that she could see them all. I believe her, not that there were ghosts but that she actually believed she could see them. It was something in her eyes, something terrifying yet brilliant. It was how she was brought up; it was all she knew. … The girl sat in the library furiously typing on her computer, her fast fingers moving to slow to the thoughts in her mind. Spelling errors pervaded her writing, and she would have to slow down even more to fix them and that would make her loose her train of thought. And then what would happened when she finished her story like the ghost one and had to think of another to write? She just wrote about random stuff, substituting the bad language for those more appropriate. But what is appropriate. It’s a story isn’t it? Everything is appropriate for someone. But not everyone. She couldn’t write about dark things because it’s immoral. But it would make for a good story. What is the line?

I think that question stops me from writing what I want to and letting all the emotion out. When peoples writing is dark, it doesn’t always mean they are but it is a way of putting oneself in a situation and trying to understand. My life is good and I’m glad for that but there are so many others were theirs are not but their stories are never heard and I don’t know any of them. So, I have to make these characters up in my head, they don’t really exist but they do. But, I don’t want to cross that line into fantasy because I don’t think it’s right. I think it’s insulting.

Half an hour left to write. I’ve been writing non stop for about fifteen minutes now. This rant piece is growing on me to be honest. I think its good to get everything out. Maybe at the end of it I can have an idea of what to write about. Maybe in the end, you will never receive this story as a final assignment. I guess we will see how it works out.


I not only wrote in the library but also in between classes. Still I did not have an idea and did what I am doing now, rambling on and on and on and on and on about the things around me and my feelings.

A shiver ran through her spine as she sat in her plastic seat. Two girls babbled behind her. They were the only noise in the room except for the clicks of her keyboard letters which she pressed with some quickness and passion. She wanted the girls to stop. She wanted to get lost in the clicks of her keyboards, the elegant way her fingers moved across it. It wasn’t the ‘right’ way, she didn’t use all ten fingers, two or three but they moved so fast it was like the same thing. They finally stopped talking but started again. One ruffled her paper to look for a certain page. She must have found it. They don’t like silence obviously. But I do, I love silence. I can listen to it all day. I want to learn how to type the ‘right’ way. I bet I’ll be even faster and my fingers would become less tired but I find it hard to learn. I base it off remembering. I have a good approximation to where the letters are in regards to the keyboard and usually do not have to look down. The finger on my right hand I use to type is my middle. It hurts after I while and then I turn to use my index but after a while it feels weird, foreign. My English professor told us about a book called Ulysses, its over 1000 pages and it only spans one day. I’ve never read it but its supposed to be brilliant because it’s a map of the mind and how it drifts; its an internal monologue of sorts.

I remember that moment because I came up with a sort-of-kind-of idea. I considered doing a story based on a music video or song. But, I though that was very cliché so I didn’t.

I just realized that I haven’t addressed the prompt. I’ve been rambling for ages and haven’t even done what I was supposed to! I honestly can’t believe that. Let me repeat this paragraph so it sinks into my own brain.


I just realized that I haven’t addressed the prompt. I’ve been rambling for ages and haven’t even done what I was supposed to! I honestly can’t believe that.

Okay, so know I need to figure out how to address the prompt. What should I do? How do I address the prompt? What idea should I use? Let’s see. What is the purpose of art? I don’t know, what is the purpose of this rambling mess of a sort-of-kind-of story? I guess the purpose is to clear my head so I can finally think of an idea, but I guess the purpose is also so I have some kind of words on a paper to turn in. I don’t want to fail.

I didn’t think of doing any other option than a story. I believe my best quality is my writing; when I try it actually has the power to turn out nicely. Even when I don’t try and just ramble for ages, I still think it turns out pretty decently. At least, I think I’ve made the point. I considered writing a poem but I can’t write a long poem. I just can’t. I don’t see the point of a long poem, it is tedious and repetitive. I only write short poems. I know that in poetry one can experiment with the proper punctuation and grammar and to be honest, I do that in my prose writing all the time. I like breaking the rules of English and the only reason I’m not doing it now is because this is technically a formal writing assignment and must adhere to the formal writing rules. So, in the end, I must write a story, whether it’s garbage or not, I just can’t do anything different, it’s not in me to.

Before I knew what story I was going to write, I knew what the formatting would be. I wanted it times new roman, 10-point font, single-spaced, landscape mode, 0.5 margins, and three columns. That’s how I wanted to present my writing because it looked so good to me and I find it easy to read that way. I figured that the art of formatting is so important that I had to break customs with it. I was going to send my formatted version and a properly formatted version of the same story, just so it’s easier to read. The moral of this paragraph ramble is to answer one of the prompts: another form of art not talked about it class. The art of formatting. I can’t write in double-space. Every time I write an essay I do it in single space and then make it double later. Seeing the words all pushed together sparks something nice in my brain, like yes this is it.

I don’t think it’s raining anymore, at least I can’t hear it. That means its either over or its just very light. I’m sure it will start again soon.

I need to read everything I wrote. I haven’t done that yet but I see that my ramblings are drawing to a close and so is the page. So, I am going to go and reread and fix errors in the remaining ten minutes then come back and write my response to reading all the garbage I probably just wrote. And then, I have one more paragraph to write I’ve been saving only because I think its witty. I have a dry sense of humor, something to keep in mind okay.

Okay, so it honestly wasn’t that bad. I little long, but not bad at all. Maybe I will submit it after all. I did spend almost an hour on it.

I’ve been saving this paragraph for a while, it was hard to keep it in my heads amid all the ramblings but I wanted to end on this statement: I bet you’ve never received a final project quite like this before.