Creative Writing Essays

Creative Writing: The Awakening
Leaves glistened in the moonlight, as the wind howled in despair. I found myself alone, in the
darkness, as I noticed a slim figure walking towards me. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, as
the individual walking towards me appeared to be a stranger. As the silhouette came closer, I
realized that it was my dear aunt. Her face beamed with excitement, and she grabbed me into a tight
embrace. "I am moving on," she informed me as the corners of her mouth pulled into a genuine
smile. She then turned around and began to gracefully amble out of the hinterland, as her shadow
disappeared within the ominous darkness. I became aware that I was merely in a dream that was
only a product of my subconscious mind. I became lucid, as relief washed over...show more content...
Having the power of controlling your dreams is first made possible by dream recall. Sleeping
longer is one prime steps to recalling dreams. Furthermore, dream journals may also hold the
power in one remembering their dreams, as all dreams are recorded on paper. Moreover, verbal
affirmation is also another way to remember dreams. Thus, one may execute the power of having
authority their dream, virtual realm. Many underestimate the immense power of being able to
control our dreams. We sleep for в…“ of our lives. For this purpose, would we not want to be able to
control the в…“ of our lives
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Depression Creative Writing
Depression
I feel depression creeping up my back like a spider crawling up my arm it's feel like my angel and
demon tugging on me telling pick a side one saying fall into depression and never come back and
another saying live for the day and be happy.
It's always war with myself on a mythical battle field filled with all the good i've felt and all the bad
i've felt and i'm losing but I will always
I feel alone my hearting sinking faster than the titanic rotting faster than a corpse my body weak
from the pressure of faking being happy or was I happy I can't tell anymore it all feels the same the
loneliness killing what's left of feeling like i'm not alone depression killing my happiness I know
there is joy to be found but i take...show more content...
The black flame born from it's own pain it tries to be like the rest but it all it does is cause more
pain and adds to its own though it knows what it did and realizes that others also say and do same
thing it will always blames itself. It begins to dim and die but it does not go out because it's
already dead but it's among the living. It does not know what it is it asks for help of others to
answer this question but even then it is abandoned so it's left to dim even lower with it's question.
Each flame was given a name when first lit, but this one shedded itself of it's name for it did not
want to be known of what he once was. He feeds off others hatred and disgust for him so that he
can remember his place and knows it does not deserve love and compassion of others. Who he is in
eyes of others is not who he is but when he is alone that's when he truly becomes who he is. This
black flame is me and it is who i am who I see the mirror is only but a shadow who I once was.
Ladies and gentlemen boys and girls that is the story of the black flame thank

Sea Creative Writing
The young boy rolls up his swag and puts it in the old wagon. He has parked in a secluded spot he
has found to camp while on his travels in search of the perfect wave. He loves this car. It is old
and starting to rust but like an old friend it has been with him on all his journeys. He doesn't
bother to lock his car as no one else comes here. He comes here often and has found that the beach
is always bare; free of surfers, swimmers or kids building sandcastles. Just him and the water. He
inhales the fresh morning air and lets it flow through his body like a well earned drink.
He grabs his shortboard and heads for the water. The waves are perfect and beckon him. He runs light
footedly across the hot sand that squelches under his feet. Although...show more content...
When he feels the wave getting closer he starts paddling faster and harder, in a strong rhythm. As
he feels the wave on top of him and the water rising beneath him, he jumps to his feet just as he's
done a million times before. His feet reconnect with the board and he regains his balance
effortlessly. He is racing down the wave at top speed, the adrenaline rushing through his body like
electricity. His heart is thumping in his ears, like drums at a rock concert. The lip of the wave
slowly curls over to create a tube. The excitement builds as he crouches down low and braces
himself. He feels the wind rushing through his hair and the wave envelopes him in a cocoon of
cool salt water. He keeps his eye fixed on the end of the tube, and reaches out his hand, gently
brushing against the wall of water that has formed around him. The water feels cool and
refreshing on his fingertips and he finds it hard to imagine that something so calming could create
such power. The pressure of the tube is slowly building, like a volcano about to erupt into an
overwhelming flow of red lava. The best part of the ride is still to come. The moment that he lives
for, the final rush of adrenaline, the climax of the surfing experience; the

Creative Writing: My Hero's Journey
A child runs inside a small classroom gathering his thoughts wondering what he saw. Bewildered by
what he had just seen he had become so frightened he hadn't realized his hands were shaking.
Collecting his thoughts he remembered that he heard a banging on a door someone opened it and a
man with patches of flesh missing ran up and bit the student who opened the door. Dumbfound by
the whole experience he began barricading the door shut and looking for something to defend
himself with. Easily finding a meter stick as he entered a mathematics classroom he began
sharpening it scared stiff the entire time. Finally he felt safe although he could hear running and
screaming every second coming from outside the doors. Getting up he finally had the strength...show
more content...
Kicking him off then jabbing the meter stick at him the student managed to get him and run off.
Leaving his bag and valuables behind he sprinted as fast as humanly possible toward the nearest
exit. Minutes later he made it out the nearest exit and was immediately hit with the stench of
rotting corpses. " No time for that" he thought to himself he turned the corner of the school and
saw minimum 20 zombies waddling around. One idea popped into his head to get to his car and
get out of there no zombies were around his vehicle all he had to do was sprint and he'd make it
keys in hand he got ready and ran straight for it. Perfectly executing a hood slide he got within his
vehicle and drove to his home where yet another surprise would be waiting for him. Quickly
running into his house to see if his family was safe he ran in to find not a single person there.
Searching for any clue to find where his parents had gone where anyone was he stumbled upon a
note taped to the cabinet it read. To anyone reading this we are heading to the next town over take
the highway and you'll most likely meet us along the way. Unless we run into difficulties with the
car we should be able to make a little camp on the side of the

My Experience Of Creative Writing
Creative writing is something that has and always will be an important part of my life. It's helped
me discover what I truly want to do in life and something that I have been interested in ever since
I was a young kid. I remember vividly when I first starting taking an interest in writing original
stories of my own. I was around the age of eight and at that point in my life I had never really
been taught that I could write by using just my imagination; when you're in second or third grade
you're just being taught how to read and how to spell. So when I came home from school one day
and wrote a story about a dream I had, it was such an amazing revelation. I couldn't stop thinking
about this dream I had one night, so on a whim I decided...show more content...
My bedroom was my sanctuary; a place where I felt like no matter what, I could always be myself.
That was my favorite place to write my stories and for the next couple years it was a place where I
would write hundreds of stories. Even today I still like to think of my bedroom as my go–to place of
peace, where I can write whatever I want. Fast–forward to my sixth grade year and I find myself at
the helm of an important moment in my life that involved creative writing. I was hoping to get into a
private school, but in order to do so I first had to create a five–hundred–word essay about why I
should be able to attend. I had never really done anything like this in my entire life. For a couple
days I thought hard about what I could say that would stand out from the other thousands of essay
the school receives every year. Then I thought about those stories I used to write and how original
they were and how easy they flowed from my mind. And so, I essentially wrote that essay on how
Chaminade (my middle/high school) would be getting one of the most creative, imaginative,
strange–minded kids to ever walk through their hallways. And then I played the waiting game. For
a couple days, I waited to hear back from Chaminade. I remember telling my mom, "What if I was
too original with my essay? What if they think I'm too weird?" My mom always had the best
responses for me. "I've never heard of anyone being too original," she would say. "And

Creative Writing: The Castle
The prince laid in bed tossing and turning, his mind spinning as he tried to collect his thoughts
from the past few days. Thoughts of the lovely young guard filling his head as he fell into a
restless sleep. Not long passed before he was startled awake by a soft sound in the room. He looked
up to see Mallory standing a few feet from his bed, wearing loose pajamas and a wicked smile, a
candle in her hand. She had picked the lock and snuck into the room when she really shouldn't have
even been in this wing of the castle, but Prince Edwin wasn't even surprised. Without a word he rose
from his bed with a small smile. As he stood she began to leave the room, and without a second
thought he followed her. Together they wandered the long twisting halls of the castle. The...show
more content...
He decided then and there that he'd do almost anything to keep seeing that smile. Eventually then
ended up in front of a tall heavy wooden door and she quickly kneeled down to begin picking the
lock. The prince glanced around to try and figure out where he was, but this was a part of the
castle he wasn't familiar with. The door sprang open and revealed a staircase spiraling up into
darkness. Together they climbed the long winding stairway that seemed to go on forever. Finally
they reached a landing with another tall door. The guard looked back and gave the prince a
bright smile as she threw open the door that lead to a small room at the top of one of the castles
tall spires. The kingdom sprawled out for miles all around them, fading in to nothingness at the
horizon. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, so the prince had no idea what time it might be, though
he could guess that it was very late. From somewhere in the shadows Mallory pulled a bottle of
wine. After opening it and taking a small drink she handed it to the prince, still smiling. Then, for
the first time, she spoke to him. She did her best to whisper, but she was loud without even trying,
though this high above the castle it probably didn't

The House- Creative Writing Essay
I moaned softly to myself as I compelled my battered legs to carry me for the last time along the
over–grown garden path, which I had once skipped down so carelessly as a young boy. I sighed as
I surveyed the acres; the once beautifully manicured, but now utterly disheveled expanse of garden
stretching before me. My gaze rested on the immense oak tree that cut into the landscape, once
majestic and verdant but now withered and dieing. I apprehensively forced my eyes to look directly
ahead of me and focused them upon the house that had once given me so much happiness as a boy. I
mocked myself for thinking that I could bring those memories back. I let my eyes rove over the
house, visualizing the...show more content...
The door was hanging off its hinges; there was no need for a key.
I stepped through the doorway. I put up my hands to brush away the silky cobwebs, relishing the
spun–silk disintegrating at my touch. The floorboards creaked after every leaden step I took. I
took another deep breath to steady my nerves, and I entered the grand ballroom. The room was
gloomy and damp, I looked up to face the chandelier, but the ceiling was bare save for a gaping,
splintering hole in the ceiling whsere it once hung. It must have been taken when they came. I
examined the whole room carefully and trod cautiously forwards. Glass crunched under my feet.
I brushed away some dust, and sat on the aged couch in front of the old fireplace. I had a
flashback from when I was a boy: I saw mother knitting in her large rocking chair, and father, he
and I were roasting marshmallows in the great fireplace. This picture brought tears to my eyes, but I
fought them back. I couldn't have cried, I thought I was past that stage now, but still the tears kept
coming and I took my handkerchief, blew my nose, wiped away the tears, and struggled on up the
curving stairs.
I shuffled forwards examining the various paintings hung on the wall that I remembered so very
well. They were worthless in anyone else's eyes, but mine. The wall was old and crusty, the wall

Creative Writing: Empire Island
"Ready! Set! Jump!" I screamed as Connor cannonballed off the front of the boat. "This feels so
good!" Connor exclaimed as he swam peacefully in the water. Slowly step by step I ran toward
the front of the boat... SPLASH! The water made the blistering hot summer heat quickly
disappear as the cold water wrapped around me like a blanket. "I thought it would be cold, but it
feels incredible." I said as I calmly laid in the cool lake water. "Jordan, do you think it would be
ok if I jumped off the high platform of the boat?" Connor questioned as he swam toward the ladder.
I looked up at the stern of the boat and noticed the platform was much higher than I ever thought.
With a height of at least four feet it left a risk of bruises covering your entire...show more content...
You need to go Jordan!" Connor said as he climbed back on the boat to go again. My hands and
feet moved slowly as I climbed up onto the seat cushion preparing myself to jump. It felt like 500
butterflies were fluttering around in my stomach. "Why am I doing this? Just do it! Just do it!" I
thought to myself. "3! 2! 1!" I screamed as I jumped off the boat. It felt like minutes until I hit the
water, but once I did I felt refreshed. I kicked my legs and brought myself back up to the surface
of the water. Gasping for air I said, "That was so much fun! I went so deep I barely had a breath
left when I came up." "I want to go! I want to go!" Logan screamed in a childish manner. "You are
only a little boy. You can't go," my grandpa said in a stern, declaring voice."But Connor and
Jordan went, so why can't I go too?" Logan questioned begging to just go once. "They are much
older and grown up than you. Once you are old like them, I will let you go,"my grandpa
answered. "Okay." Logan said disappointedly as he jumped off the front of the boat anyway. I
guess for him it would just have to do for now. I climbed back up onto the cushion and jumped in
from the back. Feeling the cool water bring down my body temperature from the blazing heat was
incredible. I swam to the side of the boat meeting up with

Creative Writing: The Rocket
"Wow, I hope that's me someday..." Bryan (the Rocket) Rockwood thought as he gazed upon a
wax mannequin of Wayne Gretzky holding the Stanley cup. Bryan and Ty were at a hockey hall
of fame museum fairly close to his home. "Wouldn't that be amazing?" Ty asked in awe. Rocket's
best friend were Ty and Adam. He was humongous, about 5 foot 9. Compared to Rocket he looked
like his older brother. Rocket guessed that he was about 5 feet tall. Rocket was very short. They
had all started playing for AAA Rangers hockey team 4 years ago, the year Rocket moved here.
Bryan moved here because his parents split up. It was tough because he rarely saw his dad, and his
mom worked almost 12 hours a day and got next to nothing. Nevertheless, she managed to pay for
his hockey. "I just want to see what's inside!"...show more content...
The Blues were against the AAA Rangers. "Here we go," he thought. The puck dropped. Bryan
hit it back before it hit the ground. The puck slid right to the stick of the Blues captain. The Blues
were up 4 to 3. Bryan blasted behind his own net. "Bring it," he said to himself. That was Ty,
Adam, and his old saying. The buzzer sounded to end the third period. It wasn't really as special
as Bryan had thought. As Bryan took off his skates he asked himself "Could there be more to life
than just hockey?" He knew the answer. He grabbed his sticks and yelled out "Good game guys!"
As he walked down the hallway, he noticed Barker and James the General Manager talking.
Barker saw him and immediately said "Bryan... I was wrong. Size isn't everything. I would like to
offer you a spot on the team before the regular season starts." Bryan replied "Actually... I think I'll
stay with the Blues. They are more hockey players than any of the Rangers. They helped me
figure out what a real hockey player is. They need me and I need them.... And by the way, I only
play for real coaches". Bryan turned his back and walked to his ride. "That felt good," he thought
"Yeah, Hockey isn't

Creative Writing: Trapped! Essay
She almost floated across the empty, box–like room. A cold shiver relentlessly weaved its way down
Emma's spine as she ran her bony hand down the bleak wall. The fireplace glared at her – its mouth
opened wide. The unfamiliar surroundings struck her as if forcing themselves against her weak body
–engulfing her. A soft breeze seething its way into the room from the uneven cracks underneath the
door meant that the desolate room of openness had become filled with the sigh of the wind. It was
as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be heard.
The young girl slowly ebbed towards the corner of the room. Something had caught her eye –
perhaps a sense of relief from the...show more content...
"Don't leave me here... I don't think I can take it anymore."
Almost as soon as she thought things couldn't get worse, the most terrifying sound rang in her ears.
The sudden bolt of the bedroom door unlatching itself made her thin face grow pale. And then she
saw him. It was at this point that her imaginings were in fact reality. Draped in a long black coat,
stood a man – his eyes pierced her skin as he stared almost straight through her. His face – hidden by
the dark layers of shadows – was square and pointed. He lurched forward and seemed to look straight
past the young helpless girl. A tight knot in her throat almost strangled her. She screamed...but no
sound escaped her lips...
At first she felt nothing, but then a surge of anger mixed with the overwhelming thoughts of
humiliation swept through her body. Wispy tendrils of his hair, brushed against her face, causing
her to shiver slightly. She could feel his garments moving against her thin nightgown. She
remembered how the night before a gentle touch graced her forehead, a hand, and it moved down
her face, tracing her eyes...her cheek...her mouth. She tried to pull away, as fear began to
overwhelm her senses, but he refused to let her go. He pulled her closer to him and she could feel
his warm breath on her face. A tingle, partly fear and partly excitement, shot through her and her
heart

Creative Writing Ocean
The sun's rays radiate off the deck of a small yacht drifting in the middle of the ocean. Like a
photograph from a magazine, the sea is crystal clear. Even though this area is at least 30 metres
deep, you can see the coral reef down below the glistening surface. It smells of salty warm air, and
the only sound for miles is the water lapping up against the sides of the boat, as if it were gulping
mouthfuls of air. If you were looking at this scene, you probably wouldn't notice anything was
wrong. The only question is, where's the crew? If someone stood very quietly on the deck of the
ship and listened very hard, they might hear a soft clunking sound. The problem is, this is not the
perfect scene you may think it is. In fact, it's actually the aftermath of a rather terrible event....show
more content...
"Go and get it." There's a murderous look in his eyes. Panicking, Kate's eyes dart from side to side
as she stutters excuses "I–I can't sir I don't know how to swim I can't–" "You'd better learn fast then."
He grins as he pushes her into the choppy ocean. Oliver freezes. Being battered around, drifting
farther and farther away from the ship, Kate is screaming. "HANG ON!" he cries, as he runs to
the mast and grabs the longest rope he can find. The life ring is nowhere to be seen, it was
probably removed it, as "it looks ugly". After tying a knot in the rope, he throws it towards her.
"GRAB THE ROPE KATE!" he yells, but Kate can't see, can't hear, can't BREATHE. Coughing,
spluttering, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, Kate's hand brushes the rope and she
grabs onto it, but only succeeds in tangling it around herself in her frenzied panic. Oliver feels a tug
on the rope. He has Kate! He has Kate! He has– "THAT FILTHY PIG IS NOT GETTING BACK
ON MY SHIP!" Pushing him to the side, Lance throws the rest of the rope into the sea. Kate is
floating on her front, struggling to breathe, but inhaling water

How To Write A Creative Writing Essay
As a child, I had always been fascinated with the ocean, even more so, those who dare braved to
conquer it. Every Saturday, in the early afternoon, my father would take me down to the dock,
and I would stare in awe at the many ships going in and out as he fed the sea gulls. However, on
these Saturday's, I would always keep my eye open for one specific ship. The only yacht to ever
dock on a Saturday afternoon was steered by Captain C. Fitz. At first, I marvelled at the thought
that such a frail man could manoeuvre such a giant beast across a series of obstacles and waves.
It wasn't until I grew older and became a part of Captain C. Fitz crew, that I came to understand.
The Captain was a tall man, whose height was only defeated by a few. Although he towered over
his crew, he not once looked down on them; rather, they looked up to him. His hands were visibly
rough, covered in calluses and dry patches, a side effect of his addiction to the steering of the
yacht's rough bark wheel. At first glance, the Captain's face was an embodiment of character, with
thin cracked lips that curtained his ageless smile, deep brackets bordering his mouth, and crinkles
at the corner of his eyes deepening every time his raucous laughter ripped through the air, you
would think the man had never experienced a sorrow or pain. The Captain loved to rock up and down
...show more content...
The engine would sputter at the most unfortunate times, and many of its parts would either glitch, or
cease to work altogether. Eventually, the yacht was deemed irreparable, and the crew was relieved
from their positions. Whether it was bravery or idiocy that caused Captain C. Fitz to sail the yacht
one more time into oblivion, I did not know, but I did understand one thing. Both beings had been
tired beyond the point of exhaustion, and were now reminders that no matter how strong things seem
at first glance, even metals bend if enough pressure is

Creative Writing: Intense Heat
I enjoyed the feeling of the hammock gently swaying back and forth,delighting in it's motion,
lulling me into a profound sense of relaxation. Above me, blue skies, and the occasional cloud
shaped like an elephant floats overhead. Palm trees rustle in the occasional cool breeze that
gently swirls around, cooling the skin the sun is successfully bronzing. Unfortunately, there isn't
enough of a breeze to keep cool. In fact, it's so hot, it's hard to breathe, and I have to fight for
every inhalation. I feel like a boa constrictor is coiled around me while the cloud elephant has
taken form and is resting over my torso impeding every breath. Underneath this menagerie, I'm
slick and saturated from my body trying to cool itself. Finally, when the discomfort had become
too much, I struggled to free myself from the oppression of the weighted heat. I push and pull
trying to get up, but there is no movement. I try to move my legs but cannot lift them. I breathe
heavily and gasp for more of the cool air circling me, but it is not enough. I try to ask for help...
I'm startled awake from an unfortunate dream of being smothered by circus animals, while on a
tropical vacation. What the hell? Note to self, no more M&M's before bed. Trying to take in that
deep breath of air, I was unable to manage in my dream, I find I am still unable. Opening my eyes,
I work at bringing my surroundings into focus. My room, my bed...oh. A 6' 2", 180 pound body is
strewn across mine, no wonder.

Storm Creative Writing
The immense storm clouds swallowed up all of the moons light and rain bucketed down. I was
all alone in my home, the television was on but the volume was down so soft I could barely hear
a whisper coming from the speakers. The heavy rain and thunder drowned out all sound in the
house and lightning snapped every now and again as though a giant photographer was flashing
pictures of the world around them. I was curled up on the couch in my warmest pyjamas with
countless of blankets upon me but no matter how much I tried to conserve some heat for my
freezing body, It was impossible to shake the unusual chill in the house. I could not ignore the
feeling of beady eyes following my every move. That's when I heard it. It sounded like something
moving...show more content...
Do I go confront it? Do I stay here an see if it finds me? Was it a burglar? It could just be a
possum. I waited for a few moments, debating my own mind when it shuffled again. The curiosity
got the better of me as my numb fingers unwrapped myself from my cotton cocoon. As soon as I
stood up, bats screeched outside my window causing me to jump. I was sure to step lightly to be
sure not to bring the intruders attention to me. I snatched my torch from the kitchen bench and
shoved it into my dressing gown's pocket. Each step my stomach tighten more and more. Each
step my fingers began to shake. I had made it to the hallway before the staircase, my back sliding
against the wall to be sure nothing could grab me from behind. The ruckus upstairs became more
violent the closer I came. I could hear items being thrown, banging against the walls with a loud
thud that sent jolts down my spine. That's when the lights in the long hallway began to flicker. "It's
just the storm." I reminded myself under my breath. Nearly at the end of the hallway the lights were
snuffed out and my stomach exploded. I flicked my torch on limiting my view to a small tunnel of
light in front of

Creative Writing: The Hero's Journey
Weeks later, as Snowman stares into the familiar bright green eyes, he thinks back to what led him
here, forgetting the fact that in a few moments, his whole world will be turned upside down.
Twenty minutes after approaching the group of survivors on the beach, Snowman really wished he
had never introduced himself to the humans. Standing awkwardly at the edge of the uncomfortably
large fire they had insisted on starting, he was sure they were on some sort of suicide mission.
They were oddly nonchalant about his existence. It almost seemed as if they were expecting him to
show up, or happy that he finally did.
"I really think we should put that out," Snowman repeated for the hundredth time. "All the in a fifty
mile radius will–"...show more content...
She had come back with a little with the usual black mask, white stripe down its back, and black and
white rings around its fluffy tail. Addie sat down next to Snowman on the damp ground, stepping on
his flowered sheet with her dirty feet. Not that it mattered.
"Isn't he a cute little guy? What would you call him, Snowman? Bandit, I suppose?"
"Bandit?" That was what Jimmy's mother thought Jimmy would call Killer.
"You're right, that's too boring. I'm calling him Killer." Addie took out a homemade dagger and slit
his throat. "Killer will make a nice lunch."
Snowman watched in horror as the blood sputtered out of the little creature's neck and onto
Snowman's flowered sheet. He jumped up in horror, backing away from her slowly. There were all
sorts of memories resurfacing, clouding his brain, making him stumble as he watched Addie's mouth
spread into a wide Cheshire smile.
"What's wrong, Jimmy?"
Snowman turned and ran as fast as he could, up the Snowman Fish Path. Every step sent a shooting
pain up his foot, and he couldn't resist crying out in pain. He had to get back to his tree.
"Why the fuck did I ever leave my goddamn

Creative Writing: Norval
Like an ocean, its wake flowing and ebbing with the tide; the ebb leading to moments of clarity, so
too did the racket within the mine shaft. A weak sob filtrated the silence between words. Henry
swung his head towards the sound and weaved his way through the fully–recovered miners towards
the strangled cry of his brother. On nimble legs Norval had worked his way to the farthest limit of
the exposed cavern. It was here he had collapsed as the methane gas stole the oxygen from his lungs.
His recumbent form face–down on the cruddy cave floor. Chunks of fallen coal and stone haloed his
head with his spiky milk–coffee coloured hair settled into the grit around his unconscious face. No
longer groaning, Norval lay deathly still within a sodden...show more content...
He took a breath, preparing to speak, just as a faint groan escaped from Norval's lips. His attention
swiftly returned to his brother; Ned's Scott's quandary fading from his thoughts. Seven sets of
widened eyes fixed on Norval. The breath caught in Henry's throat as he willed his brother to wake.
Yet, the groan through Norval's cracked lips was simply his nervous–system emitting a reflex sound;
he remained within a steady state of unconciousness. Again, Mitchell slapped Norval's cheeks
until a red blush lit his face. Henry leant close to his father's face and whispered in his ear. 'Come
on, Dad, we need to move him out of here and into the fresh air above ground.' His father's chin
shook as he nodded in agreement. Max scuffled through broken shards of coal as he cleared a path
for Mitchell to carry Norval from the cavern. A large boulder blocked their path and Max hefted the
mass clear to allow Mitchell to

Creative Writing: Bored
Bored. That was one way to describe you right now. As you sat there twiddling your thumbs you
could hear the birds squawking. It was nearly time to lock up and feed all the animals. You got up
from behind the counter and walked trought the aisles to reach the door. Just as you were turning
the sign around to say 'closed' someone opened the door, hitting you in the face. You stumbled
backwards but someone quickly grabbed you by the arm and a deep voice asked "Are you ok? I'm
so sorry!" "Yeah I'm fine." you said rubbing your nose. "How can i help you?" "Um...Well...It's kind
of a long story that but i need a fish that looks like this!" he said, shoving a phone in your face.
"O–ok!" you replied, stepping back and taking the phone in your

Creative Writing: You Are Awake
"Login" 'loading....please wait....continueing....finished loading....open application....application is
open....scanning applicant....scanning complete....begin transfer....transfering visuals....transfering
audio....transfering sensation....transfering taste....transfering smell....transfering
consciousness....transfer complete....login complete....awakening in progress....' 'You are
AWAKE' "Oi, open ya eyes ya git I'm in a hurry." As the individual opens their eyes and looks around
in curiosity they see a young girl appearing around 11 or 12 years of age in front of them. She has
short brown hair and is clearly a tomboy dressed in a pair of shorts and t–shirt that has clearly seen
better days. She's also chewwing a large wad of bubble gum evidenced by the large bubble in front
of her mouth and the side of her cheek sticking out. She is standing with her legs wide and arms
crossed in front of her chest. But, what stands out...show more content...
POP The bubble she was blowing popped and spread across her face. "he he hehe hoohoo hoohe
hoo hoo" they start laughing at the site of the young girl with her face covered in the gum. As she
starts peeling the gum off her face she offers a sheepish grimace and drawls, "Well, that wasn't
supposed to happen!" then she balls it up and throws it over her shoulder where it disentigrates
before it could hit the ground. That is if there had been a ground but both of them seemed to be
standing on air and not solid ground at all. She claps her hands "Now then, Let's get started." At
the clap of her hand the space around them turns into a room that now has a floor and four walls,
although not a ceiling. When they looked up it seemed as if they were in a planetarium. "Welcome
to the Atrium this is where you'll create your new body before you enter the world of

My Passion For Creative Writing
Even as an elementary school student, I loved writing, reading, and telling stories. I wrote and
created short films with my friends and family, printed books I wrote and gave them to my
neighbors to read and review, and got excited whenever my teacher gave a writing assignment for
homework. I took inspiration from the people around me, topics we discussed in school, and other
works of literature I adored. Throughout my years, my skills have improved through hard work and
dedication. I feel that my application would not be complete if I did not share my passion for creative
writing.
When I was younger, writing was enjoyable because I had such a vast imagination that needed to
be put onto paper. I was writing daily and asked my parents to read books to me before bed each
night so I could brainstorm ideas for my stories. I loved going to the library and checking out the
books on the 'new releases' shelf. To this day, I write regularly. I still use my imagination to inspire
my stories, along with other works of literature and historical events. I also try to write in different
voices, genres, and points of view.
During my freshman year, I noticed that my school did not have a creative writing club, and so, with
the help of a peer, I founded the Creative Writing Club at my school. The club's goal was to help
young writers share and write new pieces. We would start each day with a prompt, write for ten
minutes, then share what we wrote with the group. We would also focus on a

Reflection Of Creative Writing
It is my belief that through this class and the tools provided, that my growth as a writer has grown
through leaps and bounds I would never have assumed possible. It is not so much the skill I refer
to, although I would think skill has gone up in some levels as well, but more so the appreciation for
the craft of writing itself. Intially, at the start of this class my sole goal was to further my
understanding and appreciation of the writer's and books that I so love to read. Through further
evaluation within the first week, a few other goals came to mind, of which were, making writing
a habit, finishing what I start, stop second guess my writing skills and making effective use of
detail and description. Through the use of the many articles, various reading materials, whether
poems or short stories, and especially through the workshop, I feel I was able to really push
myself to accomplishing these goals. I have thus far learned how important it is not to be skilled
at writing per say, but to have the will to write, that poetry is as much about it's sound as it is about
it's subject, just how important character development is, how the narration and point of view of a
story is essential to the way the story is told, and just how much of a difference peer's critiques can
make to your writing.
Since before the beginning of this creative writing course, I have always struggled to find a point to
writing. By this, I mean that I always felt that having great skill and talent was what was required
to be a writer, let alone a great one. From this point, I felt there was no need to continue my
writing as I felt that in a sense it just wasn't good enough. However, reading the article "A Way of
Writing", I found new hope. Here was a writer who says things such as "I must be willing to fail. If
I am to keep on writing, I cannot bother to insist on high standards. I must get into action and not let
anything stop me, or even slow me much"(Stafford) and quotes that writers don't necessarily have
any special talent. The article "Why I Write" instilled further optimism through the authors view on
just being a writer, not focusing on being good or bad. I found her words in which she writes
"entirely to find out what I'm

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