Creative Writing Final

1. List/discuss several of the different pieces of writing you’ve done this quarter, including posts, comments, creative pieces, journals, in-class writings, and things you’ve written on your own.
   We've done a lot of memorable writing this year, and everyone has written something they can and should be proud of. A lot of my work isn't the most serious, like "Photo POACH" or "Clown Chronicles: Cool, Charlie's Calling" but there's not a whole lot I didn't enjoy writing at least a little bit. One of my favorites is the second thing I ever posted to the blog, "The Pocket Watch." It's a short story about a young man named Michael who meets a mysterious stranger who calls himself Alagor. Michael discovers that Alagor can travel through time and is forced to question everything he thought he knew when he learns he might be able to travel through time as well. I really enjoyed writing it and still wholeheartedly suggest that people read that piece when they ask what they should read. I also enjoy "Stars" which is the last piece of writing I posted to the blog. It's about a little boy who wants to touch the stars, and is bitter over the loss of things and people he loves. He has a revelation about the truth of love and life, which is brought to him through the stars, wind, snow, and even the moon. Another one of my favorites is "Lily's Pond" which is a very short piece describing a beautiful, picturesque pond that's haunted by a lovely child who died there. Finally, I enjoyed writing "An Ode to Life" which is another very short piece that depicts a hunter singing to the wind as he hunts two beautiful wild grouse grazing in a field. These aren't the only pieces that I enjoyed writing, as I liked "The Dancers" and "The Tale of Lord Marion Belesky", among many others. Overall, a lot of good, solid, descriptive writing with true meaning came out of this class. Below is an excerpt from "The Pocket Watch" along with a comment from a reader.
   
   "Michael fell heavily to the grey, damp cobblestones, scarcely believing his memories. The stranger, Alagor, had simply melted into the night. He had been there, then he was not. Michael closed his eyes, seeking some iota of logic in this sudden maelstrom of confusion. I am Michael, I am Michael. Over and over he thought these words, until his breathing returned to normal. There is a logical explanation for all of this. I probably never saw it at all. I fell asleep while walking. It’s stress-related. Food poisoning. Anything but men appearing out of thin air. Slowly Michael collected himself, rising onto his feet. Some tiny, irrational piece of him was proud that he only required the assistance of the rough-grained brick walls to the right of him once in order to stand. Michael committed to his original course of action: the tavern, for a few drinks. Again the sound of his newly made boots echoed around him, except this time his gaze was more furtive, and no shadow lay unobserved. Every darkened alcove was carefully analyzed and filed away, before his wary eyes flicked to the next nearest possible danger. Eventually he began to hear the soft laughter and conversation of a great number of men, and saw the strong, steady yellow light coming from foggy window panes and a slightly ajar door. A green sign with the words The Three Lucky Men came into view, swinging as if of its own accord."
   
   
   "You have a real gift for narration, Zach, both with the rich, sensory details you use to set the scene on the street and in the tavern as well as your use of dialogue to drive the story after Alagor and Michael meet and try to make sense of their previous encounter. I liked this description: "His attention was quietly focused on his own thoughts, his steps naturally avoiding the darkest parts of his environment. He looked up, peering at a street sign far ahead to gauge his location, reassuring himself that his navigational instincts were, as always, unerringly correct." And I also liked this detail: "Some tiny, irrational piece of him was proud that he only required the assistance of the rough-grained brick walls to the right of him once in order to stand." This certainly is a strong foundation for a longer story--a series really. When you work with time travel there are just so many possibilities for plot and location and historical references and personal struggle. Go for it! And remember all of us little people when your books are made into multiple blockbuster films." -Mrs. Fraser.
   
   This is the piece "Lily's Pond":
   "It was an enchanted place, Lily’s pond. The secret grove was brimming with lively sounds and vibrant colors, all spinning in a mesmerizing dance of pure, unforgiving beauty. Every soft, nature-scented breeze, delicate flower, and unique, green-tinged leaf spoke of life. The crystal waters of the pond lapped gently against the supple grass reinforcing the shore, and sunlight sparkled across rippling waves. Any stranger would gasp at their gorgeous surroundings, and find themselves lost for hours among its magical properties. But the memories behind those surreal colors dampen my once deep love for Lily’s pond. When walking alongside the untainted waters of the pond, I can only think of the little girl who breathed sweet innocence and was the picture of childlike perfection that took the pond and called it her own. The young child who spent hours inside her hidden place, guarding its secrets with a fervor only children can have, falling hopelessly in love with the animals and the nature. So many times I looked outside to watch her run among the trees, chasing her creatures and tumbling down grassy inclines. I lost count of the times I wandered through to find her sleeping, nestled in the warm embrace of a tree, or curled on the grass. But one memory stands well above the rest, of watching the gentle wind push my little girl, and the ancient trees trip her, and the liquid blue waters steal her away from me. One moment replays itself over and over, because I wasn’t fast enough. That enchanted place is Lily’s pond, because she will always live there, and the pond will always have her."
2. Name/discuss a couple of pieces you’ve read this quarter, including other classmates’ work and/or reading you’ve done in or out of class.

   

   
   I've done a lot of reading this year, particularly new material. I made a vow to not reread any books, and so far I've been true to that. My favorite series I read this year was the Pathfinder Series by Orson Scott Card. It was a brilliantly written series about a group of extraordinary humans with amazing genetic gifts to alter time in many different ways. It's so thought out, the characters feel real and the world is so in-depth. It's up there with some of the best books I've ever read, and I highly suggest giving them a read. I've also read a lot of good work from classmates, particularly Meghan Zengel and Taylor Denton. Both of them are extremely creative and talented, and I'm glad I got the opportunity to read some the fantastic things that they've written.
3. Write about setting up your blog and what you have gotten from that experience.  How did you come up with the name for your blog?  Who do you think read it or who would you want to read it?  Will you continue to use it on your own in the future?  What kinds of things will you post?
   Setting up my blog was fun. I've gone through two different designs. The first one was darker and more complex, but then I went for a more simplistic, lighter design as I wanted it to be easier to read my writing. I think some of my classmates read it, and I know some of my family did. I really don't care who reads anything on my blog, and anyone is welcome to. I might continue to use it in the future, although I'm not certain if I will yet.
4. Write about journal-ing.  What kinds of things are in your journal?  Who would you want to read it?  Will you continue to journal?  What will you write about?
   My journal is kind of chaotic. There's no clear answer to "What kind of things are in your journal?". I have a lot of small assignments that we did in class, and a lot of little rough drafts, most of which never became anything. In a few places in there I have some thoughts I wrote down to preserve them. I don't know if anyone could actually get anything out of my journal, if they could even read my handwriting. I don't think I'll journal how we did in Creative Writing, but I'll certainly continue to write and take notes.
5. Type an entry directly from your journal that you consider notable.  It could be a paragraph or a page or so.  You don’t have to explain it, but you could.
   

   Lost in a confusion
   Of conflicting emotion
   Offset by the need
   To see--
   Such red, red blood
   Flowing free
   
   Wanting to be alone
   Not willing to be gone
   Offset by a want
   To cry--
   Such clear, clear tears
   Want to die
   
   Hands must keep moving
   Thoughts keep roaming
   Offset by a need
   To see--
   Such red, red blood
   Flowing free
6. Type or copy/paste a passage or section directly from one of your pieces of writing that you consider notable or your favorite that you’ve written.  It could be a section or a page or so.
   This is "Stars":
   
   

   "Darkness had fallen like a velvet curtain, covering the icy winter world in shadows. The moon was a mottled disk of soft, ambient light, gently pushing folds of night away as it rose steadily into the sky. Tiny sparks of light twinkled as stars poked holes into the curtain of darkness. White snow blanketed the frozen ground in waves, glowing gently under the moon's light as it cascaded up tree trunks and the walls of silent houses.

   
   

   Flakes of new snow drifted through the air in between crisp winter breezes. A solitary figure gazed wonderingly at the beautiful night scene with inquisitive green eyes. A pale freckled nose was pressed against the foggy glass of their window, framed by two tiny hands. A giggle broke the peaceful silence and a flash of white teeth seemingly melted into the picturesque perfection outside.

   
   

   It was a boy, risen from his bed as the rest of the world slept. His face filled with amazement as he stared upwards into the crystal clear sky. The stars seemed to glow brighter, speaking to the boy in softly spoken words. The boy slowly lifted a thin arm--as if to touch the stars--only to feel frozen glass. His fingers curled into a fist, and his grin turned slowly into a scowl.

   
   

   "I wish I could touch the stars." His high-pitched voice rang throughout the room.

   
   

   "There is too much space between us." The stars seemed to shine their reply.

   
   

   "I hate space!" The boy whispered furiously.

   
   

   Several flakes of frozen water were pushed into the window by a breeze. "Why" The wind asked.

   
   

   "I want to hug my mother, but she doesn't live with me. I want to hold my baby brother, but he's with God now. I want to see God, but I don't know where Heaven is." The boy was getting was getting upset, wrapping his arms around his frail body. "I want to touch the stars, but they're all in the sky, and I'm down here."

   
   

   The night sky shined with flickering white and yellow stars, and the boy thought they were all looking at him. "Distance gives you the chance to appreciate what you love."

   
   

   "I can't even remember what my mother's arms felt like. Or what my brother looked like." The boy shivered, tears running down his cheeks. "My Dad says God loves us, and that we love him in return. But I've never seen him."

   
   

   The stars quivered in understanding, consoling the boy with their light. "We are distant because we are too hot to touch. Sometimes the things we love must be distant. Sometimes we need to have faith in order to truly realize the depths of our emotions."

   
   

   The winter wind whined against the glass, adding their voice. "I am not always here because I am too harsh to be felt at all times. Sometimes the things we love need to leave for a while, so you might appreciate them even more. Sometimes we need absence to understand the importance of the things we love."

   
   

   Flurries of snow rose from the ground, forming vague figures. "I am not always here because nothing can grow under me. Sometimes the things we love need to be replaced by more important things. Sometimes we need to forgive and understand to make room for more things to love."

   
   

   The moon rose further into the sky, shining directly onto the boy. "Sometimes change is hard, and sometimes we struggle to understand them. But change is necessary to live a fulfilling life, and the happiest people are the ones who learn to accept change.You are still learning. You still have your whole life to learn, love, and live. Do not focus on what was or what could've been, but rather what is and what can be."

   
   

   The boy's tears had stopped, and he now looked at the night with determination. "I understand." He whispered into the darkness, moving away from the window to his bed. He wiped away his tears as he curled underneath his blanket. The warm embrace of sleep found him quickly, sheltering the boy from the cold world outside."
7. What creative writing do you plan to do in the future, if any?  What do you get out of writing creatively?  How does this differ from the other writing you do, in school and in life?
   I plan to continue writing creatively, for as long as I'm able to hold a pencil. Or a laptop. Whatever. Creative writing is how I get my thoughts out, how I say what needs to be said without saying it. Creative writing is where I live, in the fringes of reality, among the mountains of half-truths and beautiful philosophies. I don't plan to give that up, ever. Especially when compared to the droll, restrictive writing in other sections of school.
8. Some final words of encouragement, appreciation, inspiration, etc. for your fellow writers you’ve worked with this quarter...
   To my fellow classmates; to the named and unnamed; to the jokes and jokers; to the writers and readers; to the friends and strangers... Continue on. Change nothing, no matter what anyone else says. Be what you should be, and write what you should write. You are talented, unique, creative, spectacular! You are named and unnamed; jokes and jokers; writers and readers; friends and strangers. You have a life to live and the tools necessary to record your life in any manner imaginable. You have the tools to live any life imaginable. So change nothing, regardless of what anyone else says. Ignore the fact that I, "someone else", have instructed you to not do anything anyone tells you to. You're the only one in control of your life. To my fellow classmates... Continue on.