2011 real simple essay contest
For Life Lessons Essay Contest winner Dorothy Fortenberry, that moment came when she faced down her worst childhood fears and, at long last, started pedaling. The year I turned seven, I discovered the unpredictability of the universe. Six had been a pretty solid age—I was a frog in the class play, my hair grew long enough for barrettes—but after my seventh birthday, in December , the unfair surprises started and kept on coming: the true identity of Santa Claus, a case of chicken pox, summer camp. Most important, No. And No. As a result, No.
Featured in April 2011
With the proclamation of its 10th Annual Good Read Essay Contest winner who wrote Releasing the Past, they also said that it would be their last. We thank you. Read Mara Eve Robbins' story about when she first understood the meaning of love. Real Simple is currently hosting their 10th annual essay contest. The deadline to enter the contest is September 18th, The winner will be determined by the editors and contributors to Real Simple. The essays must be non-fiction. The contest is only open to residents of the United States.
If you could change one decision in the past, what would it be? There is no greater role for a mezzo-soprano than Carmen. In the opera repertoire, which contains multitudes of adolescent-male characters in drag, she is the exception—the sexy and dangerous femme fatale. It was while performing this aria that I decided to stop singing.
I did not make this decision as I waited in the cramped hallway outside the studio, sandwiched between other hopefuls stealing furtive glances at one another.
I apologized to the accompanist, then turned to the audition panel. Their brows were knitted in confusion, or perhaps annoyance. I gestured vaguely at my stomach. Sorry for wasting your time. I emerged to the hustle of midtown Manhattan, getting lost in the passing crowd, stepping in rhythm with the anonymous many. Not long after I began to speak, I stunned people with a giant, operatic voice, which blasted from my tiny body like a foghorn.
It is a unique pleasure to do something so well that it sets you apart from the rest of the world. The surge of pure happiness I felt when I opened my mouth and saw the eyes of my audience widening with surprise—even a jaw or two dropping—was, in the simple emotion of a child, my greatest pleasure.
From the age of five, I never experienced a setback as I went from audition to performance to competition, always taking center stage and basking in applause and admiration.
When it was time for college, I auditioned for the best conservatories. After I sang for one of the most prestigious schools, the dean emerged to shake my hand. I struggled in college. My voice teacher made it clear that she had no faith in me. Once, she came to see a performance I was in and later made the wry comment that it was the first time that she had believed I could actually sing.
Young and unsure, I kept hoping to change her mind about my potential and have a happy ending. But that happy ending never came. Instead, by the time I graduated, I felt disconnected from my voice.
It was unwieldy, sometimes careening out of control, as though it had revolted against me. Nonetheless, I moved to New York, changed voice type from soprano to mezzo-soprano, and went on auditions. It also took me to countless small towns across America, where I had the unexpected treat of immersing myself in new, quiet worlds for a few weeks at a time. There I met a handsome tenor who would eventually become my husband.
Heads did not raise. And the Sisyphean nature of the opera business, with the constant pursuit of the next job, was slowly leeching the enjoyment from my modest triumphs. And so, at the age of 32, in that windowless audition room, I quit. It was easy at first. I felt relieved.
My decision was met with confusion from my family and friends. In fact, my infant niece, Daphne, was the only person I would sing to. I got a job in a museum and put performing out of my mind. Two years later, a few dozen blocks from where I sang my final audition, I found myself standing outside a hospital. I had breast cancer. When the doctor told me the news, she somberly explained what I was facing.
I would lose my long, mermaid hair. I would lose six months or more to the strange world of cancer. Would I lose my life? We would see. Not long after my second round of chemo, I spent the afternoon with Daphne.
Daphne had always been the perfect audience. She would look me directly in the eye as I sang song after song. If I stopped, she would wave at me with her tiny hand, urging me to go on. It felt like grit and mud had caked my vocal cords. It was no use. My voice was gone. Over the next few months of treatment my hoarseness worsened, until even my regular speech became breathy and tremulous.
I had been warned that losing my hair would be the hardest part, but this was far worse. Treatment ended. A dark shadow appeared like a rash across my scalp, giving way to a growth just long enough to let me pack away the wig. My skin morphed from ashy gray to healthy pink. My nails grew and shed their black lines. And little by little the hoarseness subsided. But my real voice, my singing voice, was not the same. The chemo and the hormone treatments had robbed me of my once effortless high notes, leaving me with a stunted range.
I practiced in secret, when the apartment was empty and even the neighbors were away, but the sessions usually ended in tears of frustration. Slowly my voice strengthened. I crept back into the singing world on spindly legs. Two years after my treatment, an old friend asked me to sing at her wedding. Although I was terrified, I agreed. After the ceremony, some of the guests hurried over to shake my hand. Yes, I thought. And thankful that cancer has permanently shifted the prism through which I view the world: Nuisances are less upsetting; daily joys are more intense.
But I wish I could go back to the woman who was singing in that cramped, windowless room and tell her this: Allow for the possibility of failure. Give yourself room for disappointment. It will never compare with the sense of loss you feel when you no longer have a choice. I would tell her not to stop. I would tell her: Sing. Thousands of you responded, with essays that ranged from the heartbreaking to the hilarious. To read their entries, go to realsimple. And Now, for an Encore.
Image zoom. Martin Adolfsson. Close Share options. This is not the end of the aria, but it is where I stopped. It felt like a slap in the face. Still, I stayed with her for three years. And Now, for an Encore It was unwieldy, sometimes careening out of control, as though it had revolted against me. One of those places was the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Post navigation There I met a handsome tenor who would eventually become my husband.
Writing workshop argumentative essay quizlet website And so, at the age of 32, in that windowless audition room, I quit. Research thesis statement for trifles I had breast cancer. I would lose a quarter of a breast. I might lose my fertility. Issues related to scoring of essay type test items construction I would lose six months or more to the strange world of cancer. Profile Menu The chemo and the hormone treatments had robbed me of my once effortless high notes, leaving me with a stunted range.
I should. I am thankful that I am still here. We send you writing jobs. All rights reserved.
The main reason was the lack of knowledge of prices and a Lack of consumer advice on which the places where saving real simple essay contest winner . Good Read, p. Real Simple essay-contest winner Dorothy Fortenberry on the thing she never thought she would do; Modern Manners, p.
Pretty much this. The crew at Sierra Nevada have just released a timelapse of the open fermentation of their Bigfoot Barleywine Ale. Very, very cool. I might have to set up a timelapse of fermentation next time I do a Saison…. It looks like a second crack at the Brew Masters concept with a different brewery at the helm.
When did you first understand the meaning of love?
With the proclamation of its 10th Annual Good Read Essay Contest winner who wrote Releasing the Past, they also said that it would be their last. We thank you. Read Mara Eve Robbins' story about when she first understood the meaning of love.
The Ride of Her Life
This site features current writing opportunities for authors of all genres, with a preference for Christian publications. I am not an editor, publisher, or an agent. I am a writer who enjoys sharing submission information I find on the web with other writers. The source of the information is listed at the bottom of each post. Please check these websites for additional writing articles and information on submissions in other genres.
Real simple essay contest winner 2011 rugby
Cloudy this morning. Scattered thunderstorms developing this afternoon. High 79F. Winds W at 5 to 10 mph. Scattered thunderstorms early, then partly cloudy after midnight. Low near 60F. Winds light and variable. Updated: May 22, am.
The Analysis of Perception B.
Prize money. Just knowing your work was superior.
