Example Of Creative Writing Essay
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Reflection Of Creative Writing
Creative Writing was a class I never imagined taking. In high school, I enjoyed the small section of
English class that was set aside for creative writing. That was all it was; a small section of my class
time dedicated to writing about whatever I wanted. Reading has been my favorite hobby for as long
as I can remember. Sitting in my advisor's office at the beginning of summer; I was hesitant about
taking this class. I have never actually taken a class specifically for creative writing and was afraid it
wasn't a strong suit for me. When the counselor said that there was a creative writing class that dealt
with the body; I thought that that might work. I enjoyed the small creative writing in high school
and I enjoyed being outside and
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Now, when I have a lot of things going on and I get frustrated, I take a walk; it helps to clean my
head. Before this class I used to check my phone or Instagram every time I become overwhelmed.
This class not only helped grow me as a writer, but it also helped me grow as a human being.
Walking helps me relax and get a new perspective on things. Coming into this class with a very
small background in creative writing, I was worried I would stand out like a sore thumb. I had only
written one previous nonfiction piece and hadn't really been graded on it. Writing the first essay
wasn't bad; the workshop on the other hand was a different story. I had never had a workshop before
and in high school "peer review" was getting together with your friends and them telling you it was
good. When it was time for my essay to be workshop, I got defensive and didn't like the feedback. I
simply wasn't used to constructive criticism. By the second workshop, I wasn't as defensive and
wanted to hear how I could make the second essay better. The second essay was a little harder to
come up with the topic. Typically, I don't walk around town; I try to stay in the country or woods.
When it came time for workshop, the professor brought up concerns about my commas. No one had
ever told me that I had an issue with my commas before. I plan to ask her for help because I want to
become a better writer. I really enjoyed this class; all except for the third essay. Essay number 3 was
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Creative Writing: The Slippery Slope
Setting his bag flat by the table, the bowler looked around at the empty alley. He plopped in a chair
and unzipped his bag. Clutching his shoes tight, he slipped them on and removed the covers. Next
he received his towel hanging it over the monitor. He then placed his balls one at a time onto the
return. Picking up his strike ball, drying his hands, the bowler stepped up on the platform. He placed
his feet on 13, an inch apart from one another. His eyes darted to 2nd arrow; his lead foot pulling
forward. Extending his right arm out, taking his second step, all in one motion towards the lane.
Now pacing forward, he took his third step lowering the ball for momentum. He stretched his arm
back to parallel with his shoulders, matching his fourth
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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
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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
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Example Of Gothic Creative Writing
Gothic Creative Writing Piece:
Once upon a time in the dark gloomy household of the Kelly family lived John (Father), Mary
(Mother) and Jimmy (Son). Jimmy is 16 years old and is an only child. His parents are very over
protective and struggle to accept he is growing up and not letting him go out and enjoy life. This
family has just recently lost their sister and grandparents in tragic car crash leaving 45 people dead.
They are facing being sued over dangerous driving and mounting a curb causing them to run down
and kill 42 other people. The stress level for all of them have hit the roof, and are to starting to fight
between themselves while people protest outside their house.
Everyday this problem was starting to get worse and starting to affect his social life and it's got to
stop, his parents aren't letting him out of the house nor letting friends in and this is effecting his
ability to go to school. Justice, justice is what they want and that's what they need if his family has
done the wrong thing then so be it. Our family has suffered enough especially the ones who haven't
done anything wrong and are being punished for the stupid actions of our family members who were
killed. "I don't think mum and dad get it that I'm sick and tired of the people chanting and throwing
things at our house all I want is to move houses or even live in the dark empty forest away from all
this shit so I can get on with my once happy life". As Jimmy goes to talk to his parents his best mate
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Nightmare
The howling of the wind brought my eyes to open. Where was I? Focusing in the dark of night,
confusion washed over me as I came to realize I was in the desert. Distant landscapes of dry and
worn rock surrounded me, and beneath my bare feet I felt the gritty sand caught between my toes. I
was surrounded by those rocky hills and yet as I scanned the desolate desert it seemed never ending.
The irony of the nighttime desert suddenly set into my body; that ghastly wind moving right through
me and chilling my bones to that of splintering ice. The need to move started me forward though,
and I felt a sharp ache all over, my body trying to fight against change. Was I lost? My heart began
pounding fast in my chest, the blood pumping through my veins
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I stared in horror – that wall was stained with gruesome blood stains. What the smell was became all
too obvious and I felt the need to vomit... that motion put away and forgotten in an instant when the
shuffling of feet rustled behind me. Panic. I turned around in a blur, my eyes huge and watering. My
stomach stirred in the slightest. A lamp? Indeed, a tall standing lamp radiated a warm light only a
few metres in front of me. Was it real or a figment of my abused mind
? Curiosity would get the best
of me, lending me a tiny spurt of energy to boost me on my feet. Teetering footsteps led me forward
cautiously, random tremors reminding me of my weakness. The lamp was close enough to touch, its
friendly warmth the only hope in the world to me. Basking in it for some slow seconds, I wondered,
maybe there were more things in the room that hadn't been revealed to the naked eye? Turning sharp
on my heel, I let out a blood curdling screech as I came face to face with the most horrific thing I
had ever seen. Huge fly–like eyes took in my paling complexion, and a lopsided smile of stinking
razor sharp teeth mocked me. Rancid skin that looked like the algae layer that sat upon a swamp
bubbled and oozed, trickling down a sharply shaped 'face'. Flight or fight reaction chose the obvious
option and I turned back again to run. Where, I did not
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Reflective Essay On Creative Writing
Learning to Create English 283 is a creative writing class. The class I took was taught by the well–
respected Dr. Stewart. She has dedicated a majority of her life to writing novels, poems and short
stories. What makes her writing unique is the careful details and moment capturing scenes she
constructs. Creative nonfiction is the bread and butter of writing
. The stories or poems are soaking
with true facts and experiences. Aiming to create a bond within our class, Week Ones assignment
was to compose a letter of introduction. We as a class shared our strengths, weakness and what we
expect to gain from the class. This broke the ice for our class, making our transition into small
groups easier. Each week, I took baby steps towards
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Titled, 20 different ways to talk about creative nonfiction. I learned about back–story, factual vs
emotional truth, narrative tension and voice. These elements that carried me through the rest of the
semester. Moving into Weeks Five and Six, revision was the main focus. Revising of lines folded
into the reading of sounds and Sonics. Both very important to the finalization of a creative
nonfiction draft. Weeks 8–12 pushed the importance of drafts and revision strategies. Our small
groups started to meet at least once every week working to develop better drafts for our final
portfolio. Our creative piece should reflect our growth as a writer
, using shape, structure, style,
drafting and revision as tools to create our own story. Dr. Stewart left us in confidence to pick
whatever subjects we wanted to write about. With all these skills learned, the most important step in
creative nonfiction is the research. Most of my research derived from our class readings. I paid close
attention to the writers approached there craft. Reading pieces out of writing true such as "The Role
of Research" and "Under the Influence". Had a huge impact on my learning. I began to understand
the flow and how to examine what I wanted to write about deeper. Without the influence of research,
catching the reader's emotional, imaginative and intellectual attention is extremely difficult. Having
the correct structure and research combination in
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Creative Writing: Fear of the Unknown
Dark black surroundings around me. Blindness is a natural occurrence after the sun descends.
Senses are heightened which sparks the imagination to soar. A moment of time when things of
legend becomes a reality and self–doubt are unveiled. In the darkness the line between fact and
fiction blur. Sounds, fears, and intuition are the elements that rule when light does not exist.
Things that pop and crack populate the house. Hearing sounds in the middle of the night that send
chills down my spine. A sense of alertness occurs when standing there frozen, waiting, and thinking,
"What could it be?" Waiting for the next noise or ignition of thought that makes the heart beat a little
faster and breathe slower to limit the noises made in the darkness. When the lights go out you
ultimately assume the worst scenarios for example a burglar, paranormal activities, or critters in the
night. Even the tick tock of the clock seems like a loud bass drum in the vicinity of catching another
sound to reassure that the noise was not something or someone. I often ask myself "Why me?"
questioning why I have these fears. I remember how watching horror movies generated fear even at
the young age of eight. Movies such as Puppet Master, IT, and Children of the Corn come to mind as
well as the infamous Chucky movies. In those movies only bad things happened at night. Although a
few people are comfortable in the dark most people visit the dark in a place of fear. The biggest fear
is fear of the unknown
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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.
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"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
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Creative Writing : An Essay
As if he could sense my probing gaze, he whirls around to face to me. For a split second, a bitter like
sensation swims in his glistening eyes before flashing away, burying itself deep within the fatherly
mask he wears, betraying his fatigued appearance. The corners of his lips lift, but it's his eyes that
dance in lieu, manifesting a radiance that compels every person who catches a glimpse to feel the
irresistible impulse to smile back. He blinks and the beauty is momentarily covered by the fluttering
of his eyelashes before he lowers his gaze, turning away from me. He saunters across the footpath,
intertwined with the thick roots of the trees and crisp golden leaves which lay like a blanket. The
hummingbirds which nestle up against
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In an instant, his cheerful teenage–like demeanour evaporates, where he becomes as gaunt as a
soldier caught unexpectedly behind the enemy lines. Why is it that the happiest of moments usher in
sudden fear? Silence clings in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on
the ground. And as the sunlight cascades down on him unhindered, the rain clenches to his skin as if
it can feel his desolation and the way it seems to pulsate through his entire body. Looking back I had
known all along that underneath the glittering world, before my eyes lay my deception that
everything was to collapse with a breath of the wind. I watch as he goes rigid, as if he took a huge
step back from life where I want to be able to reach in and rekindle his warmth but his insides
remain damp with unshed tears. As the stars and moon begin to cower behind the dense layer of
clouds, he stands swallowed in a such a blackness that robs one of their best sense and replaces it
with a paralysing fear. In this very darkness, he stands, muscles cramped and motionless while the
rest of the world washes in the tears of his pain. Like he could sense that I was gazing at him once
again, he looks over at me. His stunning, deep blue eyes hold a truth that his face cannot hide and
the despairing chill that they convey makes me look away. Instead, I watch as the golden leaves
twist against the air, leaving the branches naked where gravity drags them
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2. Every person has a creative side, and it can be expressed in many ways: problem solving, original
and innovative thinking, and artistically, to name a few. Describe how you express your creative
side.
I best express my creativity through words. The reason why I selected creative writing as my
number one choice for a class is to help myself better understand how deep and meaningful my
writing could be. Creative writing most interests me because it allows me to improve my descriptive
language.Descriptive language is important because it allows the reader a richer textual experience
through imagery that appeals to the senses. Creative writing can also help readers understand
something from a different perspectives. I once wrote an essay in seventh grade about a boy, Brad
had traveled to the future and became held captive against his will. Brad had to fight the monster to
save the other younger children from the monsters hold. Try to give more detail about this story.
How did it make readers consider something from a different perspective? With the help of my
teacher, I learned some writing techniques and was able to make the story better. For example, I
learned a technique, as my teachers called it, the "Attention–Grabbing Opener". What this means is
that you want to catch the reader at the first few sentences in your writing
.......
Creative writing can
make any story more appealing. It can help solve problems by allowing you to see past what's in
front of you. The figurative language I love creative writing, because you can get more and a page
than any movie screen with many more details. Movies tend to range from "one–and–a–half to two–
and–a–half" hours long. In a written piece, you can have as much information and creativity as you
well please. You can express yourself creatively through computer science as well. I learned that
sometimes you have to get creative when developing software. You have to think outside the box to
get past obstacles, to be successful.
Better Mr.C?
4. Describe how you have taken advantage of a significant educational opportunity or worked to
overcome an educational barrier you have faced
I am taking advantage of the significant educational opportunity at this moment:
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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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Creative Writing: The Storm
The storm raged on – both internally and externally. The struggle between her crushing depression
and her desperate, primal instincts for survival battled it out, destroying her life. She sat there alone,
sobbing like a lost child needing either guidance or the sweet release of the end. As she waited,
disinterested in her own dismal fate, she wallowed in her ever–present sorrow. The fiery gin seared
her throat on its way down, and again on its way back up, though she did not seem to care. She
could still taste the foul vomit that she had so violently thrown up half a bottle of gin earlier. Or had
she thrown up again? Did it really matter at this point? She hated the sour taste of gin almost as
much as her miserable life. Why had she chosen
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She could feel the burn of the gin and bile in her throat. The shards of broken glass stabbed into her
like as many demons attacking her very soul. She could barely notice the waterfall of hot tears on
her face as she began to slip away into cold nothingness. Though her nose, still seared by the reek of
the bitter gin, was unable to smell anything, she remembered the scent of the dirt she was pushed
into by her childhood tormentors. She smelled the alcohol at her first party. She smelled his sweat
after her first time. She thought of the metallic smell of her own blood as he beat her. She
reminisced on the smell of weed, her first perfect escape. She saw nothing, her eyes sealed by her
own will against the demons swirling around her soul. She saw black fade to absolute dark – the
complete absence of all light. Then she was blinded, not by the pure, white light of heaven, but of
the flickering fires of Hell. She was no more. She cared not what happened next as she flung her
identity as far from her soul as she could manage. For as instant, a tiny moment, she realized what
had happened to her – but even that was not enough to cause any reaction. And then the end.
Nothingness. Escape. The storm that had so long raged in her life was finally, completely
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Creative Writing: The Oldest Room
Flaming tendrils arose from below the map, its frail parchment enveloped within a blossom of reds
and oranges; the newborn already radiating with unrestrained power. Embers fell, flickered, and
glowed; specks whipped into the night by flailing fiery limbs. Smoke like shadows clawed and
climbed out to escape the fury of the horrid fire. Grey the clouds of billowing smoke were as they
reached to the farthest of the stars, to taste the sweetness of the heavenly eye of Chaos that cradled
their brethren in its silver crescent. Two young men sat across from each other, hunched, watching
as a blaze of parchment and grass wither and writhe between them. Although their eyes were fixed
on the erratic inferno, their minds ran back with memories of
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Cylluvene had eyes echoing that of volcanic rock, a deep black with webs of a faint scarlet,
encircling brilliantly bronze pupils. A head shaped to be that of a spade hung over the eyes of the
beast, with ligaments affixed to the back of its neck that fastened to a bulky tail that wrapped into
Cylluvene; two frilled appendages with long serrated fangs were placed at the edge of its gaping
maw. Farther down where the head met the shell; two mountainous claws like raw gems forged in
the bowels of Cylluvene had hung below the beasts
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Reflection Of Creative Writing
Over the course of the semester, I have had the privilege to read and discuss my classmates' writing.
Having a mix of large and small group discussions have allowed me not only to help others improve
their writing, but to learn about different writing styles and techniques. Throughout the course, I
have worked closely with Cory Robinson, a senior at Sacred Heart University, studying
English/Pre–Law with multiple minors, including Creative Writing
. In an interview with Robinson, I
have learned about how he gained an interest in writing, what he enjoys writing, and ultimately how
he writes. Robinson grew up on Long Island, New York. Surprisingly, he did not do very much
writing as child and was never the type to keep a journal. However, he
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He enjoys writing flash fiction because he does not have to commit to a piece of flash as much as he
does to a longer piece. He has contributed several six–word stories to our class discussion board,
pieces he thoroughly enjoys writing. For him, six–word stories are interesting to write because of
their short word limit. Typically, Robinson loves writing with a ton of description and tends to use a
lot of words. However, in a six–word story, every word counts. Therefore, writing this type of flash
challenges him to play around with different words in order to meet the word count. A technique
Robinson uses to write six–word stories is to "write down whatever sounds good." For example,
"Peanut butter stuck between my teeth." When creating this piece, Robinson was suffering from
writer's block. He simply jotted down a few words and liked the way they sounded together. The
piece had no original meaning to him, but his readers are able to give the piece meaning. He uses
this method of writing again when he writes, "Rain drops, Angel's tears, God's piss." Like the first
piece, Robinson did not write this for it to "make sense", but to give his audience the opportunity to
search for a meaning if they choose to, or enjoy the combination of words as is. Additionally,
Robinson draws on inspiration from his life experiences when creating six–word stories. In his piece
from the 6th Week Submissions on Blackboard, Robinson is inspired by a couple of different aspects
of
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Descriptive Essay About Spring
Spring is such a wonderful and joyful season. The air begins to warm, and the temperature rises
slowly. Not only that, but the days seem to be getting longer as well. As the snow begins to melt in
northern America, the lovely flowers begin to bud and the flies begin to come out. The tree buds
starts greening and preparing itself to grow. The air smells different as opposed to winter
, it smells
fresh and alive. Spring wraps up winter, and leads on to the hot and humid season called summer.
Spring is the season that prepares itself for the next season, as forestry is starting to grow and thrive.
The animal kingdom also uses spring to mate. The bears that were hibernating no longer have to
hibernate. The smell of freshly cut grass also goes through the warm spring air.
The grouchy people of winter also start to become happy again. Most people dislike winter as it cold
and the driving condition are not great. However in spring, everything is having life, or coming back
to life; as well as their spirits. Spring is finally the time where people can finally eat outside, open
up the window to let fresh air in. Nothing is better than seeing the neon green trees and grass shining
through the low amounts of snow that might still be left behind by Mother Nature. The farming
trade also begins in spring; the farmers begin to plant their vegetables so they can harvest them
when the time is right. Spring also has a very nice holiday, Easter. Families gather at each other's
houses and
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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
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Descriptive Essay About A Festival
My excitement was almost palpable as I drove past Lake Okeechobee, watching sunlight bounce
reflectively off the massive body of water. My 6 best friends and I were moments away from
entering into the majestic festival land. Entering the festival grounds, we where bursting with
excitement and energy, partly because we were sitting still in a cramped car for 2 hours. The car was
moving only several inches per minute, but as the car took covered more territory, so did my
eagerness. There were only a couple of feet distancing our car from the next; everyone else was as
enthusiastic as I. I saw smiles and excitement and heard electronic music in the background, all
while sitting and waiting in a vehicle. It can to my realization that this was the first time I was
surrounded by a whole spectrum of unique people. Some attendees looked like they had just stepped
out of a Madonna music video, with neon colored clothes and asymmetrical patters; others wore
shorts and a tank top. However, there were two similarities among us: we came to dance to each
beat of the music and we all suffered from the humid, swampy, hot weather.
Although my friends and I wanted to park the car and head straight to the festival
, we had some
housekeeping to do. Three tents and a camp area later, we were ready to start dancing to the
electronic music and enjoying our three day festival weekend. The summer heat was unbearable, as
the humidity engulfed the air and the sunrays kept reluctantly burning our
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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
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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
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Creative Writing: An Example Of A Police Report
Report I'm Officer Todd Strader I got a call from dispatch on January 27, 2016 at 14:47pm about a
domestic in progress. Dispatch said it was a neighbor that called it in going by the name Davalynn
Brustey in apartment B. I arrived at 1245 east willow street apartment C, at 14:53pm upon arrival a
backup officer was there a female named Christy Metal. Before knocking at the door, we waited and
listen to their conversation to hear who was arguing and why. What I heard was a male and a female
arguing back and forth. I proceeded to knock at the door and announce that I was a police officer
and they need to open the door. A white male came to the front of the door and ask us what we
wanted. I then stated that there is a noise complaint coming from
...show more content...
James was a little hesitant of letting us in the house "James staid if you have to cause, I know you
guys are going to." So then I proceeded to ask him again can we make sure the female is okay yeah I
guess. So know that we got consent from James, Christy was about to go inside and check on the
female when James started to get a little "fidgeting" by pulling away from me and moving around so
for my safety I put handcuffs on him. I advise James that you're not being arrest it's just for my
safety because you seem very upset. So we all went inside to talk so the neighbors won't thank bad.
Wild Inside the house, my partner Christy was talking to the female named Dore's Myer and ask
what was going on and if she needs any medical attention and if she was harmed. Dore's said she is
fine they were just arguing about work. After me and my partner realized that there was no crime
committed our no injuries we waited until they calmed down before I let James out of the cuffs.
Then we proceeded to get information from the two parties. James Myer is one of the parties involve
his DOB: 12/17/1976 and his phone number (316) 690–1482. The second person is his wife Dore's
Myer DOB: 6/28/1975 and phone Number (316)682–9418. There were two kids in the house at the
time of arguing Jake Myer DOB: 3–12–2008 and Katy Myer DOB:
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