Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Writing Prompt 14, by Sara
1:54 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
The rocky incline is slippery, so I shimmy over to the mossy sides and climb up there. I have to look down, as the setting sun is shinning right into my eyes as it peeks over the top of the gigantic rock formation. This place holds a decade full of memories; a dozen summers of climbing this exact trail. Pants and running shoes protect my legs and feet from the bugs. An oversized sweater stolen from a cabin mate dangles from my young, gangly frame. The warm summer breeze kisses my cheeks as it dances through the trees. Everyone is silent, save for the pants and grunts with effort of getting up the rock. Below us, the docks bang against each other, jostled by the waves of a passing motorboat. A loon can be heard far off to the north. With one last push, I'm on top, looking at those who have already arrived and found a perch on the multitude of rock. I walk over to a small nook, my favorite place, and sit. The adrenaline of game time has worn off, leaving everyone covered in a blanket of calm. The rock sighed; it seemed to be happy we came and took away the loneliness it endures during the day. My best friend plops down beside me, smiles, and links her arm through mine. We squint into the sunset. We smile as the sun warms our faces. There is nowhere we'd rather be.
Labels:
Friday, March 5, 2010
Imogen's Cheever Arms, complete version
12:04 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
Ten Years Later
He didn't exist. That's what Norah's boss had been telling her for the past year. All of her stuffy, bookish friends agreed that the mysterious messiah had to be fictional. This rendered Margarete's story a lie, a useless lie. Norah knew they were right, but she would always believe Margarete. The man had existed, she knew so. This was always her focal point when speaking. Show the audience that you trust the story and believe in it's truth.
"Eventually, we'll convince them all," Margarete had said. Norah pleaded with fate, hoping she was right.
And then she was out of her head, and back inside the spacious hotel lounge. Nick leaned his head against her shoulder while he relaxed into the red and gold satin sofa. He had trust in Margarete's story, and this worried Norah. Only the great unwashed masses would believe, that wasn't enough.
"Eventually, we'll convince them all," Margarete had said. Norah pleaded with fate, hoping she was right.
And then she was out of her head, and back inside the spacious hotel lounge. Nick leaned his head against her shoulder while he relaxed into the red and gold satin sofa. He had trust in Margarete's story, and this worried Norah. Only the great unwashed masses would believe, that wasn't enough.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
"I like moonlit walks on the beach."
10:28 AM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
By Tim
Voice of Restraint:
I walk on the side of the ocean. The beach is nice. The moon is bright, and I talk to it. I feel like a character in a romance movie. It is a good thing everyone else is asleep.
I walk on the side of the ocean. The beach is nice. The moon is bright, and I talk to it. I feel like a character in a romance movie. It is a good thing everyone else is asleep.
Voice of Abundance:
I tread, heavy footed, on the beach alongside the rolling green-blue waves of the warm ocean. The beach is sandy and clean; it acts as a display case for the most beautiful collection of shells—they are pink, blue, black, snow white, shiny, patterned, dull, and all of them lovely. The moon has been raised high into the sky and is almost a full circle, but not quite: it sheds light upon the beach well enough for me to navigate my way without stumbling. As I walk, I speak to the moon: I tell it of my ambitions and my dreams, I speak to it like I'm a soppy character in a romance movie, I laugh, thinking "I like moonlit walks on the beach." As I walk, I am glad that the moon doesn't shed enough light for anybody to see, should they wake up at this hour and look out their window to the dark sea.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Hmmm... Twitter is evil. Enough said. Wait. Why are important people on it anyway??
12:06 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
http://tech.ca.msn.com/canadianpress-article.aspx?cp-documentid=23536425
This not only confirms my hatred for Twitter, but also makes me think: Why are important people ON IT in the first place???
-Sara
Sara's interview with Ms Greene
11:13 AM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
Kaitlin Green sat on a desk, surrounded by a semi-circle of grade 12 students who were also perched on top of desks. Her hair shone from the light coming in from the window. At this point in the interview, she was relaxed; her shoulders were slumped, her legs dangled from the desk. Her eyes were searching each face, waiting for the next question. There was an awkward silence.
"What are qualities people point out about you?" I piped up. I thought back to the note my boss had written me before she moved out to Calgary, pointing out my optimistic mood and carefree ways. She told me to never lose that. I loved that letter. It reminded me of the person I want to be.
Kaitlin Greene Interview
9:35 AM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
By Tim
It is cold outside, and a bit chilly inside as well. I made sure to close the window when I entered the room, and it was quickly warming up. We all sit on top of the desks to provide a comfortable environment for our interview; Kaitlin Greene, aspiring teacher, is telling the story of her childhood, growing up on a farm just outside of Ottawa. "I remember one Christmas morning," she says, "when my father gave me a toy tractor; one of those big ones with the realistic parts. My mom gave me a Beauty and the Beast doll set, and I remember I wasn't interested in the tractor at all." As Kaitlin tells us her story, I can feel the vivid imagery in her memory. I can practically smell her grandmother's Butterscotch Pie cooking in the oven, and I sense the feeling of being safe inside a warm home when the snow is piling up all around. I watch as though looking at an old home video on VHS as Miss Greene's father (looking very much like Pierce Brosnan) tries to capture her interest with the tractor. I see her mother sipping at a glass of heated apple cider, joy in her eyes at seeing her family so happy while the Princess and the Goblins plays in the background.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Cheever Arms: 3rd Pov, 1st Pov, 10 yr jump
6:05 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
By Marc W.
Hope I got it this time.
Third pov
"I'm home-"Charlie yelled, stumbling drunkenly through the apartment's ancient threshold, " -and I brought company!"
Hope I got it this time.
"I'm home-"Charlie yelled, stumbling drunkenly through the apartment's ancient threshold, " -and I brought company!"
"Shh, Charlie," the blonde giggled behind him, "you'll wake the whole house."
"Oh right, sorry," he whispered in a loud voice brushing snow off his leather Fire Department jacket.
Seven year old Tatum, got up from his spot on the futon and skulked his way down the old hall way. This was his chance, mother had always said that every man has one of the seven deadly sins, he knew that if he played his cards right he could use this.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Cheever Arms
10:17 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
By Emma H
"How's my favourite girl?" Charlie called to the front door of his apartment. He placed his daughter's after-school snack of cheese and crackers, arranged in a smiley face, on the little round table.
He heard the padding of her feet as she ran to him. She threw her arms around his middle, hugging him from behind.
"Daddy!" She smiled into his shirt. "My day was crazy!" She moved towards the table and began to shove the little blocks of cheese into her mouth.
nEAT-O!
9:24 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
A video that (almost) reminded me of the poem we got some time ago... Lost Generation by Jonathan Reed.
(this post is for fun purposes only. Enjoy!)
-Binaeshh
Interesting news article- posted by Sara
1:33 PM |
Edit Post
Edit Post
This is a series of articles about strange sports they've had in the Olympics. Some of them would make an interesting story!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)