Constructing Creative Writing

Glogging!

2010-06-22T10:23:00.004-05:00

Welcome to our inaugural post for the summer of 2010! Our creative writing class has been working hard to develop short stories that will encompass a variety of styles and genres. One of our first tasks was to create "glogs," or online interactive posters, that will represent the protagonists of our stories. Students were asked to depict certain things about their protagonists, such as what style of clothes they wear, three of their personality traits, three of their interests, their favorite foods, their perspective on life, etc.

The idea was that each student should develop an intimate knowledge of their protagonist before they write a story about this person. Once they know who this person is, they can then write all about them! Glogs give them a visual and interactive way to think about their character, before writing, which helps them think about their character from a different perspective. Here are some of the glogs our class created (note how different each character is visually!):

A Poem

2009-06-25T08:25:00.001-05:00

For My Mother
April 29, 1936-December 12, 1987
by Juan McAfee

I would like to see you living,
which may not happen.
I would like to see you,
living. I would like to live
with you, that I might
take life from my mouth and
into yours

and breathe breath into your
fragile frame and sweet flesh
with your hair of dirt
and mind of grass and life
of souls

I would like to give you the sparkling
yellow flowers, the ones
growing in lacy shadows of shore-trees.
I would like to share memories with you
like a song traded back and forth.
I would give up wholeness
to see your face and hear you speak
and you hear my confession,
and I your answering
of what happened so long ago
before that one indifferent winter.

I would like to see you for a moment
only. I would like you to know that
I am here
and I will follow.

A Prologue...

2009-06-23T14:43:00.008-05:00

This is a Prologue from Alex's final project. For those who don't know, the final project in Creative Writing is to create one of the following:
-a 10-15 page short story or beginning of a novel
-a collection of 10-15 poems
-a collection of 10-15 raps or songs (ie: around an album's length)
-a free-form essay of 10-15 pages
-a 10-15 page screenplay or script

Alex chose to write a 10-15 page short story, and completely blew me away with the quality of this prologue. Not only is the content dramatic, but her writing is amazing for an about-to-be sophomore. It is a little adult, but I try to encourage the kids to write about whatever is on their minds, so long as they do so eloquently. Without further ado, here is Alex's prologue:

PROLOGUE

"What's going on? I can't feel legs, and why does my head hurt?"
Oh my God, what is that beeping noise and why won't they stop it, I thought to myself. Maybe I can do it. Then I woke up, head still hurting and I stopped that cursed alarm clock. Once again it's time to go to work with those crazies. Man, why did I become a psychiatrist? I really wanted to help people, but I didn't know it was going to be like this. Every time I can't keep it “real,” I have to keep it “doctor.”

I finally got up out of bed and got in the shower. What's going on? Why does my head hurt so bad? For some reason I can't remember last night. This beautiful Saturday, and I have to go to work. I'm glad I only have one appointment today. I got out of the shower and dressed quickly because with each move I make my got damn head hurts. I'm eating breakfast and realized I was running late. I ran outside and got in my Charger with the license plates that read Phd21.

I arrived at work and my secretary hands me a very important message. It reads: "Call Ms. Johnson when you get the chance, her daughter attempted suicide!"

Wait, Ms. Johnson? Her daughter was my only client today. Oh no! What's going on? She was making so much progress. Why did she fall off like that? I told my secretary that my session was going to be at Ms. Johnson's house, and told her she can go when she's ready just make sure she locks up.

I get to the Johnson’s and Ashira, Ms. Johnson daughter, is freaking out and threatening anybody who comes near her and tries to take the gun from her. Ashira is a very pretty girl, 20 years old, and she is only like this because of her ex-boyfriend. He used to beat her and then say he loved her, would make love to her and buy her the things she wanted and she thought that was love. Then he left her and after that her world just crashed. She was in college and after he left her she just let go of everything and thought she had nothing else to live for. The more she came to me the more she seemed to be improving herself and I thought she was moving on. Well hell, I guess she thought she was, too. Otherwise she wouldn't be doing this! What the hell is she doing this for?

Then I came out of shock and told her to calm down, and slowly put the gun down and come talk to me. I don't want her to do this to herself. I told her, “People are here to help you through this, to show you love and to guide you all the way on the right path.” She put the gun down and came to me crying and talking off the walls. All I understood was:

"I saw a picture of us and I lost it."

I said "Aw okay, so you thought about what you and Mark had?"
She then whispered in my ear: “No, what me and you had last night."

After that, a flashback popped in my mind, but it was blurry. What was she talking about? Man she really did lose her mind.

“We are going to have to put you under surveillance because of your suicide attempt." I told her.

Her mother then pulled me to the side and said, “I want to live and I've done everything I could for that crazy ass child of mine."

Then there was a short pause and she said, "What I'm trying to say is, that girl has got to go. I don't care where she goes, a crazy home for all I care, but she has to go.”

Ashira and I then left the house and she cried even harder and said, "I really mess- I really messed up. My own mother doesn't want me anymore, everyone I have loved and lived for, they've left me, there’s something wrong with me. I don't know how to live now." Then all of a sudden, she tries to jump out of the car while we’re driving down the highway! What she didn’t know is I made her ride in the back because of the child lock. I know the girl, and she is a little messed up in the head. I shouldn't think this way about my patients. Something had come to my mind when I first met her. I felt like I already knew her, but did I?

McAfee's Fable

2009-06-23T11:56:00.004-05:00

Here's another submission from the illustrious Juan L. McAfee:

The Spider and the Butterfly: a Fable
by Juan McAfee

Hanging against the wall of his house made of spider webs, the Spider had hung a map of the world. A map littered with red thumbtacks. If one were to view the map while hovering high above his house, they would swear that had witnessed red polka dots on a hounds tooth scarf. Nevertheless, every night the Spider placed a red thumbtack on his map to remind him of what he had been saving all his life for: to travel the world.

This particular warm summer’s night, just when the Spider had closed his eyes to sleep, an explosive knock was heard at his door. “Bam, Bam, Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat.” The Spider looked up and around and thought to himself, “Why would Butterfly knock so hard on my door? It’s made of spider webs and I can see him very plainly. All he had to do was say, ‘Hey, Spider, it’s me, Butterfly.” But then Spider remembered that Butterfly was never known for his tact or brains.

“What can I do for you my good friend, Butterfly,” the Spider said sarcastically. If Butterfly weren’t so dense, he would have noticed it was said in a sarcastic tone.

“Well,” said Butterfly with his usual stuttering style of conversing, “I, I, I, was, was wondering if, if, if if, you could lend me a few, few, da, da, da, dollars, until payday next week?”

Being careful of his voice level in order not to seem rude, the Spider replied, “Aren’t you just returning from a trip from Brussels; and before that Cairo; and before that Osaka. I don’t understand? Ever time you get paid you fly off somewhere. Why would you travel to Brussels if you knew that when you returned you would not have enough money to last until payday?”

“Well, well, well, well, well, you, you, you see, Ever since, I, I, I, was a little caterpillar, I, I, I, was told by my, my, my, my mother, that it, it, it, it, is best to live life like there, there is no to, to, to, to, morrow.”

The Spider searched his heart and mind to find the right words so as to not seem rude to the naïve, little, stuttering Butterfly. “Well, my dear friend Butterfly, certainly your mother was a wise woman and it is a shame to think of how she was captured by a giant net and never returned to watch you grow. However, as a wise and older Spider, I must press upon you how important it is to save for a rainy day, not unlike today.”

“I, I, I, I don’t understand.” Said the Butterfly, looking bewilderedly and sadly into the Spider’s eyes.

“My money is hidden beneath the mound of dirt that I sleep on at night. If I can live life like a miser and save all my money in order to experience and enjoy my latter years in life so must you. I must politely and kindly ask you to leave, yet take with you this bit of advice. Save your pennies for a rainy day, for after a long hot summer, for after a long drafty fall, for after a long cold winter, a rainy spring will come”

The Butterfly felt a great emptiness within himself, which then filled with silence. He turned to fly away when suddenly he heard the irregular noise of thunder and lightning. Just as he began to take flight, he stop after hearing a loud clap with a mild thump that quickly followed. Just then the Butterfly turned around to see the Spider lying flat on his dirt mound. As the Butterfly flew toward the wheezing and lightly breathing Spider, who was enjoying his last breath of air, the Butterfly hovered above his neighbor and quietly stammered in his ear, “Some, some, some, sometimes it, it, it also rains in Summer.”

Court's Paragraphs

2009-06-23T10:35:00.002-05:00

These are Court Jones' submissions for his two creative paragraphs:

Hi my name is John. I love school. I love the smell of freshly open books. The noises of pencils scratching over paper as people write. The stomping of kids running through the halls as the bell ring. The teacher talking for hours not knowing that no one is listening. The whispers of kids around talking. The sound I love the most is the end of the day bell.

After school is the best time ever. I love looking down the street and seeing all the homeboys outside. Yellin my name to come down the street. Oldheads telling us about the old days as if someone cares. The sound of dice rolling on the concrete. The girls looking so good you wish you were single. Cars going by as they watch you act a fool in the middle of the street.

Teacher Submission

2009-06-22T12:00:00.002-05:00

Here is a short story submission from CCC English teacher Juan McAfee. Enjoy!

Shades of Blackness

by Juan McAfee

It is the year 2025, due to the effects of global warming today is another gray and drab day. However, the day shimmers aglow with our laughter. Me and my cousin Dre, who is twelve, one year younger than me, run through the house, teasing and funning. It is our blackness and our blood that makes us more than kin. However, we shall find later that it is our blackness, or which shade of blackness, not our blood that makes us useless to this government.

My cousin Dre and his family have come a long way to visit us for the summer. Due to the price of gasoline most folks like us can only travel once every other summer. Me and Dre get along about like always: Him getting’ the best of me even though I’m smarter. Him tickling my feet till my sides ache and I cry “uncle.” Dre and his two brothers crowded with me and my two brothers in our tiny bedroom. Dre spends most of his time in bed scaring me late at night, talking about spooky creatures in the dark.

It is a summer not unlike any other summer, or at least it feels that way. Our fathers sit out back most days talking sports, politics, and the lack of progress of humankind. His mother and my mother gab hours on end, catching up on old schoolmates, olds flames, and old times.

We only half listen, more concerned with bossing our younger siblings. We’re both the eldest, so we eat the most, we’re eager to compete, we scrap the loudest, and are first to go running when mothers call.

This summer Dre seems to have taken on a foreign edginess. Almost a sadness, but not quite. And while we fuss and wrestle, we’re older now and I sense he’s beginning to regard me as the young woman I’m becoming. But there’s something else eating at him. I ask him if something is wrong. He looks at me and I watch his eyes go weepy. Nothing’s the matter, he says. And it takes a while, but after a couple of days I provoke him back to mischief and he’s more his usual self.

In no time we’re roughing and tumbling about the house. This one afternoon me and Dre are playing hide and seek while our brothers take their naps. I tap Dre and he’s it. He counts slowly to ten as I scout out a place to hide. We’ve been warned to stay out of the front room, and keep our noise down or suffer a spanking. I’m bold enough to think I can hide right under mama’s nose and get away with it.

I tiptoe into the living room, crawl up under the old upright piano, and wedge myself in between it and the cloth-covered bench. From where I am, I can overhear our mama’s chitchat. My mama has the ironing board up in the dining room and is pressing out a week’s laundry. His mama is sitting at the table, one of her breasts out, nursin’ Dre’s new baby brother. There is a crack between the piano and the adjacent armchair which allows me to watch them without being seen.

Then here come Dre. He tiptoes up to the bench. I can see the quick little steps of his worn sneakers. I hold my breath. Next thing I know I’m looking into his eyes and teeth. He’s smiling and laughing silently at finding me so quickly. He gets down on all fours and crawls in under the piano and starts tickling the stuffings out of me, daring me to laugh out loud. I hold it in. I don’t want my legs tanned with one of them peach tree limbs my mama favors.

Then suddenly something his mama and my mama are saying catches our ears and we listen.

“I’ve had my last child,” his mama says. “This is it.”

“He’s such a pretty boy,” my mama says.

“He’s my favorite of the boys. He’s so light-skinned and look at this good straight hair. And lookahere at them gray eyes!”

“He takes after you.”

“I’m so glad the other boys didn’t turn out dark. You know this government isn’t very kind to darker skinned boys who come of age.”

My mama made a strange little laugh. “Thank God my little girl passed the physical exam at the Department of Coloration last month.” She continued. “Just barely though.”

“I’m so glad this baby didn’t turn out black and ugly like Dre. I can’t stand to look at nothing’ that black, and I feel so sorry Dre is as black as he is—tar black. Of course you know Dre must report to the Bureau of Beautification at the age of thirteen. I think the best law this government passed was to have all dark-skinned boys at the age of thirteen castrated. This world doesn’t need any more ugly, black as tar people.”

Me and Dre were staring at one another, our mouths and eyes as wide as could be. And saw hurt, pain and hate flood his face all at once.

I wondered what my aunt thought of me and my brothers. And my father too. All of us were only a couple of shades shy of Dre, who was what we called charcoal. At the same time I was filled with a powerful hate for the woman. She thought she was better than us because she was high yellow and closer to white. My mama had raised us to believe that that way of thinking, the way the government wanted us to think about ourselves, was sick and wrong. And now I was filled with shame. Why wasn’t my mother taking her to task?

Maybe she would’ve if she’d seen the tears burst silently from Dre’s eyes. She didn’t see the hardness that took hold of his heart. And she didn’t see me reach out my arms, trying to leap beyond my tomboy years to be the mother he lost in the instant.

Dre crawled out, went to the bathroom, and closed the door. He stayed there a long time. I went into the room where the others were napping and thought about it till I couldn’t think anymore. We would never speak about it. No seemed to notice the change in Dre during the rest of that visit. No one, except me, noticed how sullen, withdrawn, and mean-tempered Dre was becoming. I remember standing just off the hallway, by the piano, watching them leave. His mother reached out to touch Dre as he was going through the door. He jerked away and she gave him a puzzled look. I took it as a sign.

It was the last time I ever saw Dre. The only details I know are the ones I read about in the papers or saw on the news, of course the government controlled both so who knows what happened exactly. It was reported that Dre walked into the Bureau of Beautification and shot over fifteen people and then turned the gun on himself.

Before this incident happened Dre had sent a package to me. Inside were old photographs of Dre’s father, grandfather and great-grandfather. You should have seen them. They all looked like Dre, same color, same smile. I thought to myself, “They’re beautiful!”

More Paragraphs

2009-06-17T12:11:00.003-05:00

Here's Bridgett Wings' response to the same assignment; hers is more guy-friendly, but also would be the great start to a novel, in my opinion. I really like the beginning of a great conflict between characters.

Doing Things the Right Way
by Bridgett Wings

John was the best athlete ever known. He was known for hitting the ball out of the park, running like the lightning, running people over, and using his footwork. He had medals and scholarships coming from here and there. John was always being interviewed in the newspaper and on the news. John had lots of friends and they loved him because he was a great person to hang around. A lot of the children that lived around the neighborhood loved to hang with him as well. But there was a boy named Josh who was extremely jealous of John.

Josh did whatever he could to get himself in John’s place. When they were playing games against each other's teams, he would ball hog, and try to keep the spotlight on himself. There was even a time when they were playing soccer, and Josh tripped John. John was injured for about a month. However, the most incredible thing happened: John came back and was even better. It was like nothing ever happened. When that happened, Josh learned that he should just forget about everything and maybe someday he could make his way to fame the right way.

Paragraphing Assignment 1

2009-06-17T11:58:00.003-05:00

In this assignment, the students were supposed to write two solid creative paragraphs, and could choose the subject matter. Freshman Victoria White wrote these two paragraphs, and I was impressed with their depth and description. Please give her some feedback!

I wish
by Victoria White

I wish I was like that girl. She is smart, talented, and much more! Senorina is that girl. She always sits alone reading and not eating during lunch. When people ask her to join them she'd say no rather than setting with them unlike me. She is sort of a loner, only the whole student body wants to be her friend. She's the most popular loner I have ever seen. She isn't shy if that's what you're thinking. She'll get up and give a presentation that will have any job she applied for hire her. She'll tell you what's what if you get to be a nuisance. She keeps to herself and sits away from other kids. There are only three people that she really talks to and I envy them. I wish I could be her friend. No, I wish I could be her.

Senorina has long brown hair that falls to the end of her back. She'd have to be careful not to get it caught when shutting a door. Her hair looks soft and silky. She is tall and her skin is a carmel brown. Her eyes are the most beautiful blue, and the dark makeup she wears makes them sparkle like the ocean in the sun on the hottest day in summer. I sit here thinking about all of this in the cafeteria while eating my cardboard pizza and drinking my watery milk. My table is crowded full of students. I know them all but I still wish I could be like Senorina. Even if she doesn't know many kids like I do, they all know her and being known is what counts.

BRRRIIIINNNNNNNG!!!!!!!!!

Time for class.

Stretching our minds...

2009-06-17T10:10:00.002-05:00

Some attempts at writing sentences without subject-verb-object agreement (and therein realizing how ridiculous sentences sound without it!):

What up?
What it do?
You ugly.
Ain't gonna happen.
Ms. Willems short.
You stupid.
Sure didn't know!
No. (which could be a refusal to do the assignment...)

Second Poem

2009-06-15T14:18:00.001-05:00

waking up in the morning looking in the mirror

looking at my self

thinking what to do today

thinking about life my life

getting ready to go

to go fair away from life

fair away from my house

not to hair the people yelling

come home seat think

how to serve the next day in life

going to sleep and not waking up again

that's life one day alive and next died

so what is life to you

Our first poem

2009-06-15T14:11:00.000-05:00

RAIN DROP by Angel Jackson

As the rain drop hits the window sill, All i can think about is you

I see your reflection in the puddles that collect on the ground.

I so confuse, i dont know what to do " Should I run or Stand still'

We were the closes that's what you said to me, but as i look around were

could you be.

I guess it was all just in my memory......

CCC's Creative Writing Blog!

2009-06-15T14:09:00.000-05:00

Hello CCC! Our Creative Writing classes have been coming up with such fabulous poems and other writings, we thought it would be a nice idea to share it with other staff members and students around the school. We created this blog to post some of our writings and get some feedback, so we can grow as writers. Please feel free to post whatever you're thinking about the poems and other work on this blog, we'd love to read your opinions!

We'd especially like feedback from teachers *nudge nudge* as, believe it or not, your opinions are of the utmost importance to your students. :-)

Thanks in advance!