2. During class this semester, we had to read many different classmates' writing. While I was in this class, I read many different amazing pieces by Zachary Boddy. I read poetry and short stories alike, and many of them had a beautifully sad quality that was extremely intriguing and endearing. I also read a book called Finale, by Becca Fitzpatrick while in this class. This is the final book in the Hush, Hush series, which follows Nora as she finds herself falling in love with a fallen angel, Patch. Yes, a fallen angel, as in he fell from Heaven. There is something about Patch's charming, yet dark personality that continues to draw Nora into him. While Nora is being drawn to Patch, she also has many life-threatening experiences that she thinks Patch has something to do with. How will Nora decide between a future romance with Patch, or staying away from this potentially dangerous fallen angel?
3. I remember that setting up my blog was a frustrating experience. The computers were not working, and blogspot had chosen to be difficult that day. When blogspot had decided to cooperate, I finally got my blog set up. The name of my blog is DreamCatcher. I chose this particular name, because I saw a dream catcher right before leaving Mrs. Fraser's room to go set up the blog. The story behind dream catchers has always intrigued me, and I thought that "DreamCatcher" could double in meaning. It could mean that I am attempting to catch my dreams, as well as experience the good dreams (or the good things in life). I know that people from the class read a few posts from my blog (due to assignments). My mom also wanted to look at my blog, because she liked the idea of having all of my writing in one place. Other than these people, I am unsure of as to who looked at my blog, or how they were able to access it. I may continue to use this blog in the future, if I ever find that I have something interesting to write that people may want to read. I also may just want to use it for my own enjoyment. I could write short stories, such as this class has given me more experience in doing.
4. I enjoyed to journal this semester. It allowed me to get my ideas in order before I went to the final draft of a piece. It also allowed me to write pieces that I did not put on my blog, but could just write for my own enjoyment. In my journal is a compilation of ideas and first drafts of pieces that I believe no one would enjoy to read. I would enjoy to go through my journal one day, and continue to expand and improve upon the ideas that are currently in the journal. On the pages of the journal are snippets of my writing that only I would be able to understand and interpret. I will continue to journal; it allows me to get my ideas from my head onto paper. It also allows for a more private setting, and I can write things in it that no one will read.
5. Window Poem
Grey dust clings to forgotten toys and
Treasure chests of old
A dismal bed, navy blue with age,
Lies in wait of a warm body
Footsteps in the dust and
A few cleared cobwebs lay near the
Cracked door
Letters opened and once cherished
Lay scattered among the floor
Along with the colorful leaves of the
Soon-to-be-bare trees
There is a brass doorknob
On the cracked wooden door
And every once in a while,
It begins to turn ever so slowly...
6.What Lies in the Dark
Something was off. The old man could sense it. From where he sat on the park bench, he could feel the change in the wind, the soft kiss of malevolence grazing his bare neck. The streetlamp above him flickered suddenly and burnt out, leaving the old man alone in a night as black as the Devil’s eyes. Fear began to creep its way into the old man’s heart, cold and menacing. Adrenaline made his skin tingle with anticipation, yet he had no idea why. Then he saw…something. A light, glowing a fluorescent blue, was fading in and out just down the dark street. Despite his fear, he felt his feet begin to move towards the fascinating blue light. It was as if a glorious angel had come to save him from the suffocating darkness. As soon as the old man was within 100 feet of the beautiful blue light, it changed form. It was no longer a shining star, guiding him out of the deep night, but his late wife, Maureen. She was calling to him, beckoning him closer. Paralyzed by a deep array of emotions, the old man stood staring at his deceased wife, tears falling down his face. As he was incapable to move, Maureen came closer to him, her blue light illuminating the street before him. The last thing the old man remembers was opening his mouth to scream.
***
The little boy could not find his grandpa. He had told his grandpa that he would come right back to the park bench after he had finished trick-or-treating at the local high school across the street. They had agreed upon meeting at the park bench- his grandpa’s favorite park bench- after the little boy’s plastic pumpkin was filled to the brim with candy. Now, he could not find him. After scouring the deserted street for his grandpa, the little boy eventually went back to the grey bench where his grandpa once sat, and took a seat. He assumed that his grandpa might have wanted to do some trick-or-treating himself, as the old man did quite like his Twix bars. The little boy sat his plastic pumpkin down on the bench next to him, and began counting his candy under the yellow light of a streetlamp. Suddenly, it became difficult to count his candy; for, the streetlamp above him began to flicker. As soon as the little boy looked up, the light died, leaving the little boy in utter darkness. The boy felt his heart clench like a fist; he was afraid of the dark. The dark is where his worst fears could come to life, and were set free. Crippled with fear, the little boy sat stock-still on the park bench, and listened for any noise in the eerie night. Instead of hearing a noise, he saw a fluorescent blue light off in the distance. The little boy could not move fast enough. All he could think about was getting away from this awful darkness. As the boy neared the bright blue light, he tripped and fell onto the pavement before him. At least, he had thought it was pavement. There was a whole world underneath him, a world full of suffering, and of hate. Writhing corpses stretched their bony hands up out of pits of raging fire. Their bloodcurdling howls of true pain, sorrow, and envy rose up from their flaming graves. A river of shadows flowed in between the pits of flaming torture, and the little boy could only guess what lie beneath the inky black water. The little boy had read about this place, the Underworld. The sight alone made his body tremble, and horror was set free to tear apart any rational thoughts he may have. The little boy was then drawn out of his trance when he saw an eerie blue light out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head ever so slowly, he saw that the light was in the form of a person. It was his grandpa, but the little boy did not remember his grandpa having coal black eyes.
7. I plan to do creative writing on my own, and most likely in a journal in the comfort of my bedroom. This would allow me the freedom to write whatever I would like to write (given that it is "creative" writing), and whenever I would like to write. Being able to write on my own would also allow me to be able to write about how I felt that day, what happened that day, etc. I could treat this type of creative writing like a diary, except I know that I would not keep up with it every day. It would allow me to be able to get my emotions out onto paper if I had a rough day, or to simply be able to reminiscence about a good day or memory.
8. Thank you for allowing me to read your fantastic work this semester! They were all lovely, and I hope that you all have a fantastic break!
