“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed” Ernest Hemingway once said. Writing means a lot of things to many people and is because this form of expression is use in so many different ways we can barely count them, however most of the writers in today’s society use it to free their ideas into paper or a computer so they have more space in their brain to imagine little more. Writing has different creative ways, there is not a specific format to writing, creativity comes
I failed the test the first time, I began to hate writing, and I started to doubt myself. I doubted my ability and the ideas I wrote about. Failing the second time made things worse, so perhaps to protect myself from my doubts, I stopped taking English seriously. Perhaps because of that lack of seriousness, I earned a 2 on the Advanced Placement English Exam, barely passed the twelfth-grade proficiency test, and was placed in developmental writing in college. I wish I knew why I failed that test,
Dust in the wind I never liked the sun. The giant fiery ball was nothing but a reminder of the grim end that was closing in on us. At least an end to our way of living. Governments all over the planet were completely focused on finding new ways to conserve human and animal lives. Bunkers were being built, trips to Mars arranged, and research on nearby planets and solar systems’ hospitability had never been more intense. “Yet here I am, just waiting for time to pass.” I said out loud, staring up at
When you look into the mirror who do you see? The eyes that stare back, are they your own? When I look in the mirror, a dull pair of blue eyes stares back. The shine long is gone. It left when reality came. The most ordinary and typical pair of eyes ever. I don’t know who they belong to. This person that stares back, is that me? Who am I? “What do you feel.” she asked, “You know you can open up to me.” “I know, Jessica. But I can’t.” “Why not?” “ Because I…” I can’t say it. I can’t tell them that's
The Three Musketeers I ran across the basketball courts, the cold rain stinging my skin. I smiled as my shivering body was greeted by the warm room and affectionate librarian. “Good Morning, Perpetual!” She referred to my seemingly never-ending smile. “Good Morning!” I replied blithely, plopping my backpack down in the ‘forbidden section.’ This was actually where all the fairytales were, but was so named by three ardent Harry Potter fans who thought it sounded more magical that way. Layla
It's the place where you stop the story." Writing a unique yet interesting novel ending is tricky, especially when the writer needs to consider the different aspects of the story. Another thing the writer must consider is his or her target audience, since it is impossible to please everyone. Lastly, the structure of the plot must be taken into account, since this is what sets the novel apart from others. However, the ending is where one can truly see the writing prowess of an author for it can be regarded
The Wall that Ruined Everything On August 13, 1961 at midnight, it happens. There is a banging noise outside. I get onto the ladder of the bunk bed I sleep on and climb down. I accidentally step on a toy that was left on the ground by my younger siblings. I could hear my little sister Anna breathing deeply as she sleeps at the bottom bunk. I walk to the door. I slightly open the door to see if anyone is outside. All of the lights are off. I open the door and walk out. I quietly down the stairs.
*** June 24, 2009. The day it all started. I was told to meet James by the woods. So, I wore a black skater dress hiding my thighs, thinking it was a second date or something. We have been together for about a year. I felt his green eyes looking at me, as I nervously played with my hands. My legs started to shake faster and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The silence between us started to overpower. I tried to lean in for a kiss, but he slowly drifted away. I could hear my heart shatter
Prologue Today is the day I die. Looking out on the battlefield makes me shutter, The slight fog in the air swirls around lazily, dampening my face, the morning sun reflecting through it giving an odd luminescence to the clearing that separates the city from the surrounding forest. The forest of peace we call it, how laughably absurd. Large shadows, incorporeal and elusive settle at the bottom of the Luminescence in the distance... Writhing, twisting, screaming, crying... I could almost
I signed up for the army when I was 17, I look at least 19 so the whole pretending I'm older thing was a breeze. When I thought of war I thought of glory. Red banners flying high in the sky, girls cheering. The men would drink around the campfire at night and we would have our choice of whichever female we wanted. We were heroes after all. I had no idea how wrong I was. My first night in the army, shivering as the cold enveloped us. No fires were to be lit..... the Nazis were out there somewhere