Poe

     Edgar Allan Poe (born Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American author, poet, editor, and literary critic, considered part of the American Romantic movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is generally considered the inventor of the detective fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction. He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.

     One of his more famous pieces was The Raven. He as written many other short stories and poem. People have seen his work and recognize it to have spooky and ominous themes to it. I see it to represent all his resentment and anger that came out of his life events. He had a father that left him, mother that died early, wife that died early, and lived poor all his life. Poe was so poor, he served in the military to get payed 5 dollars a month. At age 40, Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown and has been variously attributed to alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, suicide, tuberculosis, and other agents.
     
     As the author, he is committing a lot of time on other events. He has served in the military, watched his foster mother die, watched his brother die, and watched his wife die. This is a rather depressing life, and he actually had the heart to still develop pieces that become famous today. He wrote mysteries, missing characteristics, interesting theories of life, and symbols that are chosen carefully that sparks the interest of a reader from an absent clue, a clue that leads to the understanding of his story. Yet he leaves that clue, and leaves a lot of people and critics arguing his perspective and reason behind the stories. I solely believe he wrote those stories because of his tragic life.

     It is hard to accept such a recognized author today has suffered a poor life at his time. He was the founder of mysteries, and the mysteries that exist today stay because such a genre exists. He is a very important person, and wrote many interesting poses, yet still passed away as a sick, lonely man, something I believe great authors do not deserve.

What is an American?

     So what is an real American? Is it someone who lives in America or something else? I believe the answer lies way back to the time when the first people showed up in the New Land.

     We are rejects from Europe, whatever people don't like. When people in Europe dislike religious ways they just boot us out. Convicts who are in jeopardy of persecution sail for America so they die. They end up here, set up new settlements, and and that how our nation started after we broke free from England. That was 200 years ago. Now, we are the gung ho nation, who threatens other countries for our own benefit. Ever since world war two, we thought we were the greatest, no one would beat us. Is it what we have become? Just people who would kill for success? I afraid it is true. Many people may deny it, saying we are a clean country, no one is beyond compare. We are standing on one leg my friends, we are about to fall, the country of the brave is about to die.

     We still get immigrants, but is it so? Does immigrant define America? To be very exact, the native Americans were before we were. That means American? I think it doesn't mean literally people born in America, it is people who pledge allegiance to our nation, people who come other shores, people who look for a better life, people who were discarded by their home nation, that is an American.