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In studying, working, or living, we often see作文 written by someone who struggles with words and aims to convey ideas through language. How do you write a piece that resonates with the reader? Look at these five essays on唐诗, each one addressing a different aspect of what it means to write effectively:

1. Abolishing Obstacles to Writing
   6 years old,爷爷 decided to teach me about唐诗 while he was away in his vast yard. The爷爷 shared stories and rhymes, like "Bannock at dawn" and "The Sun Rises," and I quickly jumped on the train to avoid getting distracted. But爷爷 always made sure he was there when I finished the ride, especially near the end of each trip, offering a special reward for completing his sentences. This taught me that writing is about overcoming obstacles and sharing my ideas in a clear and concise way

2. Exploring the Poets’ World
   After attending elementary school, I didn’t continue reading唐诗 until high school, where I began to write my own stories about artists and authors. My friend brought home a poem called "Eup DEMED," which I read aloud during lunch break:

   It’s like the wind blows through my hair and makes me feel like I’m not there.
   I love it so much that even when it’s too loud, I still try to write it down.

On a family camping trip with my parents, we heard stories of women who wrote唐诗 while they were in the wilderness. One woman named Shang Jia described writing her own poem:

When the sun came up, I saw birds flying over the mountain.
I had no idea what to say, so I just wrote "Bannock at dawn."

The next day was different for me because a white blow head came up in the sky and shouted, "Let’s make an唐诗!" It gave me two hours to finish my writing, which was especially tough. But with everyone else watching as I finished my poem, the blow head just smiled and said, “Good job on finishing it too!”

1. Writing My Own Story
   When we finally finished our drawing project for the camp trip, one of us had to write about their experience. We were three people, each taking turns to draw parts of what we saw. The leader drew an artist in a black pen and pencil, while another drew a woman’s hand in a soft gelatin style. One person drew a snowman who was waiting for the blow head to come up, but then realized they didn’t belong to anyone because they were part of a big group on a mountain.

After some time, we all noticed that everyone else was laughing as we went along. The blow head just laughed and said, “Who are you?”

Finally, after a long struggle, I started writing the story:

I didn’t understand what the blow head meant when they spoke about making an唐诗. It made me think about how important it was to not get too caught up in the moment.

In the end, it turned out that this blow head was a guide for the artists on the mountain, telling them to focus on their work and not worry about everyone else’s fate.

1. Exploring the Poets’ World Again
   After leaving camp, I went back home and read another of Shang Jia’s poems: Eup DEMED. It was written in a very simple way but told a long, winding story. The lines were hard to read at first, but as I kept reading, I started to understand how the poem came together:

   The sky was bright like fire, and the mountains seemed huge. The wind blew through my hair and made me feel that I wasn’t there yet.

The next day, I wrote another story about Shang Jia’s blow head when it finally popped up in the sky. It was similar to the first time but a little more complex:

As the sun went down on the mountains and into the valleys below, my hands worked tirelessly together until they met in the center of the sky.

The story ended with me writing about another blow head who made an唐诗 that didn’t belong to anyone. It wasn’t a blow head because it was so strong and powerful. But the author couldn’t stop.

1. Reflecting on Life Through Poetry
   After finishing my three stories, I spent the next day going to bed early because I didn’t want to miss any of the parts that were written earlier in the week. The blow head had always been so important and so hard to believe that it wasn’t part of me anymore. But I knew I had to write about it:

The blow head never existed, but it was everywhere at once. It seemed like a God who made a big circle each time you drew an唐诗, and each one looked so much like the other until the last one appeared.

In the end, I wrote a long poem that described how different blows could create different唐诗. Some were peaceful, others were strong, and none were just in the center of the sky. It was a reflection on life itself:

Even though we all went to sleep early, we kept thinking about the blow head. It wasn’t us anymore.

Thank you for reading this version!