Writing Starter #61

I think doing these writing starters everyday really helped me with me creativity.  Often I feel like the hardest part about writing is just finding something to write about.  They offer just enough of an idea to get me started but are left open enough that I can be creative, and even inspire me to start writing about other things.  This was especially the case when we were writing poetry.  When I first learned that we would be writing poetry, I was terrified, because I had no idea where I would even start with poetry.  But the writing starters helped ease me in to writing poetry and gave me ideas of what to write about.  I found this experience extremely helpful when I had to start coming up with my own ideas.

Writing Starter #60

- face cake
- chicken fingers
- BBQ'd ribs
- black eyes and peas

Writing Starter #59

Allen: So are you leaving home or coming home?

Nina: (thick Russian accent in all dialogue) What says you?

Allen: Oh, I guess I'll take that as coming home.  You're from Russia?

Nina: Yes, Russia is my home.

Allen: So what brought you to America?

Nina: A kind of research.

Allen: Oh, research? What do you do?

Nina: I destroy America.

Allen: You... ummm... what?

Nina: What? what is it?

Allen What did you say you do?

Nina: I burn America to the ground.

Writing Starter #58

Tim: Well? Do something.

Oliver: What do you mean? Like, open it?

Tim: Sure.

Oliver: What if there's something inside?

Tim: Isn't that kind of the point of opening it?

Oliver: No, I mean, something dangerous.

Tim: Like what?

Oliver: I don't know, a bomb? A gun? Bees that have been uncomfortably condensed into a box and aren't very happy about it?

Tim: I feel like we'd be able to hear bees.

Oliver: Well, still, you see my point.

Tim: Here, I'll open it.

Tim opens the box and stares inside

Oliver: What's inside?

Tim: ...it's...it's a note.

Oliver: What does it say?

Tim: It says... "remember, he led you here."

Writing Starter #56

Me: Look, I know there are a lot of factors to consider, but the one movie that satisfies every need in a good movie is Forrest Gump.

Dave: What?! You've got to be kidding.

Me: It's a great movie!

Dave: It's a quotable feel-good nostalgia fest.  

Me: Well I didn't even get the nostalgia because I wasn't alive for any of that anyway, and I still loved it.

Dave: I can't even believe we're having this discussion.  It is the godfather.  End of discussion.

Me: Any reasons to back that up?

Dave: Sure, it's the greatest movie ever made.

Me: That's not a reason, that's the argument!!!

Patrick: Guys, I'm pretty sure it's Argo.

Me: No no no, you're not doing this again.  First it was Slumdog Millionaire.  Then The Hurt Locker.  Now Argo.  You can't just pick the best picture winner and call it the best movie ever made.

Patrick: But Argo was so good!

Me: And what happened to Slumdog Millionaire.

Patrick: It didn't even get nominated this year, not good anymore.

Dave: Don't bother, he's hopeless.

One Act Play

Alvin: 15-18, a high school student who is always looking to help people out, at times to a fault.

Kenny: 15-18, Alvin's enthusiastic friend who often fails to realize the danger in a situation.

Manny: 15-18, a new kid at school with a thick Italian accent whose background is a little mysterious.

Scene: A late fall night in New York, at a dock on the Hudson River.  Alvin is talking on his cell phone.

Alvin: Sorry, Kenny I can't tonight.  I'm helping out that new kid Manny with a job... I'm not really sure.  He never told me.  He just asked if I'd help him out with a job and I could use the money so I said yes!... Oh come on, what could I possibly be doing that I'd be uncomfortable with?... Oh ya, I'm sure Manny Anzelmo spends his saturday nights "comforting" old ladies at the retirement home, and decided to rope me in.  Besides, we're not even close to the retirement home... He sent me out to that old dock off the Hudson.  Ya know now that I think about it, his dad is the owner of Anzelmo shipping and receiving.  I see their boats around all the time.  We're probably just doing some loading for them or something... Alright, see ya later.

The engine of a truck is heard, headlights shine on Alvin, then go out, the engine stops, and Manny enters.  

Manny: Hey Al, you ready to do this?

Alvin: Yeah sure.  So what exactly are we doing here?

Manny: Just helpin' out my dad with his work.

Alvin: Ok, that's what I thought.

Manny: I'll go grab one and we'll start unloading.

Manny exits, then enters, dragging a long, heavy, black bag.  Alvin glances down to see it.  

Alvin: Uhhhhh... wha... wha... what is that? (Stuttering)

Manny: Work! And let me tell you he was a squirmy one.  Let's dump this guy!

Alvin: Uhhhh III've gotta make call.  My... my mom wants me to pick up dinner!

Alvin runs to the side and pulls out his phone.  

Alvin: (hushed) Kenny! Hey! Look, things are a little different then I thought.  Look, I'm sorry to even rope you into this because of your dad and all, but this kid's got a bunch of dead bodies!... I know!  I think he might be part of the mob!  I gotta get out of here! I need you to come swing by in your truck... Kenny? Kenny?! Oh god...

Manny: Hey what's the hold up? Mama can't decide if she wants barbecue sauce?

Alvin: There were... uhhh... a lot of side options, and she was considering potato wedges even though--

Manny: I don't care.  Will ya just help me already?

Alvin: Yeah... listen Manny... I'm not sure this kinda thing is exactly--

Manny: Hey! Who's that over there?!

Kenny enters

Kenny: Hey guys, what's goin' on?

Manny pulls out a gun

Manny: You got 2 seconds to tell me who you are and what you're doing here before I blow your head off!!!

Kenny: Ahhh please don't shoot! I'm here to help! I'm Alvin's friend!

Manny: You invited him?!?!

Alvin: What?! No! Why would I do that?!

Manny: Well then why is he here?

Alvin: I don't know!

Kenny: Hey, it just sounded like fun, I thought I could help you guys out.

Manny slowly drops his gun

Manny: (Surprisingly upbeat) Well then let's get crackin'! Gimme a hand new guy!

Kenny: It's Kenny.

The two grab the first body and hurl it offstage.  Manny exits to get another.

Alvin: Dude! What are you doing here?!

Kenny: I'm here to help!

Alvin: What do you mean you're here to help?! This guy almost shot you!

Kenny: Oh please, he was never gonna shoot me.  Does he really look like a killer to you?

Alvin: He killed all of those guys!

Kenny: Huh, yeah I guess he did.

Alvin: Why did you come here in the first place?

Kenny: Are you kidding? You called me and said you're helping this new Italian kid unload a bunch of dead bodies! That sounds like the mob to me, and I gotta get in on that.

Alvin: This guy's a psychopath!

Kenny: What? Noooo. Just a murderer! And a disposer of corpses.  Like us!

Alvin: This isn't what we do, Kenny! We live in a suburb! We are not part of the mob! For God's sake, what would your dad say?

Kenny: (intense, grabbing Alvin by the neck of his shirt) Don't you dare bring my dad in to this!  (let's go, relaxes slightly) Sorry. (pause) But my dad made his decisions.  He wasn't a very smart guy.  And just because he couldn't handle a little danger doesn't mean I can't.

Manny: (from offstage) Al, Kenny, come gimme a hand, I got a big guy over here.

Alvin: Look, we'll just politely tell him that we can't be a part of this. 

Kenny: What? No!

Manny enters

Manny: Hey, what's the hold up? I need some help with fat albert over here.

Alvin: Listen, Manny, I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here.  You see, we're not really the type of guys who are suited for this line of work.

Manny: What? No, you're fine in what you're wearing.  Ya know ya don't have to go in the water right? God, why does everyone always think ya gotta jump in with them?

Alvin: No, see, I think we're misunderstanding each other here.  What I'm trying to say is that--

Kenny: What my friend here is trying to say is that we are extremely grateful for the opportunity to work with you!

Alvin: ...excuse us for a second.   

(hushed and to the side)

Alvin: What was that?!

Kenny: I'm not letting you ruin this for me Alvin.

Alvin: You're not a criminal Kenny! You're going to get arrested, if not killed!

Kenny: I'm not saying I wanna be a hit man. But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! The mob is a powerful organization and I'd really rather have them on my side.  Let's just not burn any bridges, alright?

Alvin: What about dead bodies, huh? Is it ok to burn those? Or maybe evidence, or homes, or hospitals? This is some sketchy stuff!

Kenny: Maybe you just aren't mature enough to handle it.  But I am! If you wanna run away like a little boy then by all means be my guest.  But I've dealt with death.  It's a part of my life.  And I'd much prefer my wife and kids to have a killer for a father than have a police officer knock on their door and tell them they found their dad floating in a river.

Lights and sirens come from offstage

Manny: Cops? What the hell is this? (turns to Kenny) You set me up! You're a snitch, you set me up! I knew!

Kenny: (panicked) What?! No, of course I didn't! I would ne--

Manny pulls out his gun and shoots Kenny in the head

Alvin: You bastard!

Alvin charges at Manny immediately, knocking him to the ground, and beats him while beginning to sob.  As he does, gunshots come from offstage and Alvin falls over, dead.  

The end.

Writing Starter #55

Scene: A teacher's room in the middle of the day, a pouting, bored high school student named Chris sits back in his chair away from his lunch while the strict Mr. Ferrell eats his sandwich.

Chris: I bet you think I'm enjoying this.  I'm not!

Mr. Ferrell: Now, why would I ever think you would enjoy this?

Chris: Huh?

Mr. Ferrell: Look, it's no secret you don't like me, and I'm sure if you had the choice you would much rather be in the lunchroom with all of your friends right now.

Chris: But... I bet you think that any student would be lucky to get one-on-one time with you... ya know, because you have such a huge ego.

Mr. Ferrell: chuckling, I'm sure you get enough of me in class every day.

Chris: Well... ya I do! Too much!  But how do you even know that?!

Mr. Ferrell: How do I know that? How do I know that after screaming at you for half a period every day for not doing your homework, and then staring you down the rest to try to get you to start on that night's, that you're not exactly aching to spend more time with me?

Chris: So... you know you're a jerk?

Mr. Ferrell: I'm not a jerk, Chris.  Look, I know from your perspective it comes off like that, but I try to help my kids out.  In an ideal world we could be best friends and you would turn in your homework everyday and every problem would be done correctly.  But if you have to hate me in order for me to be able to teach you anything, I'll gladly sacrifice the friendship.

Writing Starter #54

"I can't believe I would ever hurt you like that! I feel terrible! If I could go back and tell myself not to do that I would! I honestly feel like I was a completely different person than I am now or that I ever have been.  Please give me another chance, I swear nothing like that will ever happen again."

Writing Starter #53

I hate peas.

You can't just say you hate something, you have to give it a try.

Look, I can have any opinion I want about... peas.  I know I don't like them.  I choose not to have them.

But people have been eating peas for years now.  Millions of them.  Can't you understand that perhaps peas are a pretty good thing if so many people choose to have them?

They're just not for me, I know that for a fact.  You don't understand.

Clearly I don't! It doesn't make any sense that you just wouldn't even give them a try!

Look, when I think about having a... pea... I just don't like it.  It's a bad feeling.

That's just what you've made them out to be!  But if you've never had one you wouldn't know what they're actually like!

But I know that I wouldn't enjoy it.  And them I'd just have to live with the bad decision I had made.

What about 20 years from now? Are you still going to keep yourself from having peas? Where will that leave you? It's a fundamental part of life!

If I happen to have changed my views peas by then, then maybe I'll give one a try.  But if not, I don't have to.  I'm fine living without them.

Writing Starter #52

Mr. Fickler decided he would teach the students a lesson about being so messy by not cleaning any not immediately noticeable mess up at all.  He left all of the spills, the stains, and the stockpiles of garbage.  He was so close to retirement that it didn't even matter if he got fired for it.  He was expecting simply a terrible smell to roam about the schools.  However, the waste left by the children became so toxic it began to transform the rats living underneath the school.  They developed a rough exterior, grew about 5 times their normal size, and became bloodthirsty beasts who would eat anything that moved.  These beasts soon began to terrorize the school, and Mr. Fickler knew it was his duty to clean this mess up.

Writing Starter #51

He simply wasn't able to stop.  Every day whenever he saw the smallest bit of food, nothing in his brain told him "food is what made you so big" or "you've already had enough today." He simply kept eating and eating, unable to resist a single bite.  Children would come to his house and throw food near his mouth, to see him struggle to catch it.  He hated how humiliated he felt, but he couldn't resist the food.  It was the greatest thing on Earth to him.

Writing Starter #50

The kids send a message saying Santa has died, thinking it will be funny.  But the Easter Bunny takes it seriously and lets the whole mythical community know, and soon everyone is really upset, including Santa, who is mad that people are spreading rumors about him.  He searches for whoever started the whole thing and eventually finds the kids and turns them into elves.

Writing Starter #49

The gang decided to take their Magic School Bus somewhere that they could learn about Social Studies and Grammar, because they'd realized they'd been completely neglecting every area of study besides biology and astronomy.  While they thought they might be going to some historic building, their teacher decided to bring them to one of her favorite places to learn about otherwise boring subjects: School House Rock.  They showed up and noticed the never ending infectious jingles coming from all directions.  They tried to figure out where they were when a little piece of paper walked up to them and repeatedly explained the fact that he was a bill.  Then a young girl showed up to tell them to start unpacking adjectives, and began to whip out giant spelled-out words from her bag like "Ugly," "Purple" and "Slimy."  They were frightened, to say the least.

Children's Story

Marvin the monkey was walking down the street, on his way back from fetching the water for the rest of his tribe.

Marvin: "It's getting late, I better hurry!"

Just then, a rather sinister looking snake popped out in front of Marvin's face and startled him.

Snake: "Hey Maaaarvin.  Where are you going in such a hurry? Come join us!"

Marvin: "Oh no, they've taught me about snakes.  Don't think you can trick me! I'm getting back to my village!"

Marvin continues to run, but is stopped when he hears a mighty roar, and sees a Tiger emerge from the bushes.

Tiger: "Please, don't listen to the snake.  The truth is, we're having a party back here, and you should come join us."

Marvin: "I'm really sorry, but I have to get back to my tribe soon, or they will be very upset with me."

As Marvin ran towards his tribe, and looked back to see if perhaps the snake was following him, he thudded into a sloth, dangling from a branch.

Sloth: "Those two scared you didn't they.  Don't worry, we really are very friendly and have a lot of fun.  Come join us!"

Marvin: "You were at the same party as those two?"

Sloth: "Of course I was! Everyone in the jungle is there.  Really, you must join us!"

Marvin: "Look, I really wish I could, but I have to get back to my village before it's dark.  Sorry!"

Marvin ran off, determined to get back to his village before the sun was down, when he noticed an animal perched about twenty feet in front of him.  When he approached it, he realized it was one of the wise old owls.

Owl: "Hello Marvin.  It has come to my attention that you haven't listened to any of my messengers."

Marvin: "Oh, no, it isn't that! You see I just really need to get back to my tribe."

Owl: "I think they would understand if they heard that an owl required you presence.  No please, Marvin, join us."

Marvin: "Alright, I guess, just for a little."

Owl: "We're all over this way."

And the owl flew off into the brush.  Marvin ran after him, shouting, looking for everyone.  It was getting dark, and he didn't like to be alone.  He felt a tap on his shoulder, and whipped around to find the snake from earlier in his trip.

Marvin: "It's you! Where are all of the others?"

Snake: "I am all of the other's Marvin.  I've lured all of those animals into this trap, just like you, so that I can devour them, and then become them.  And you're about to be next!"

The snake coiled up with the end of his tail waving in the air, mesmerizing Marvin.  He was about to pounce and bite Marvin, but Marvin soon realized the snake's tail was within reach.  He grabbed it, and pulled it into the snake's mouth just as the snake was about to clamp down, causing him to bite his own tail.  As it happened, all of the spirits were released from the snake's body and they materialized around him.

Marvin walked back to his tribe and was soon greeted by very angry village leaders, as well as his parents.  But as they began to scold him, an owl flew in, and explained to them how Marvin had saved nearly half the jungle from the evil snake that was capturing their souls, and was considered a hero.

The tribe leaders considered this and decided to throw Marvin a real party, where everyone in the jungle was invited, but they only had to go if they wanted to.

Writing Starter #48

It was a flying whale! There it was, floating above him.  It turned itself over so it could talk to Clarence.  

What are you doing down there?

What are you doing up there?

I'm having fun!

But how?

The wizard! He's making all of the animals fly! Go see him!

Writing Starter #47

Lenny the Lion: Dave, I lost all of my teeth! I can't be a lion if I don't have teeth!

Dave the Duck: Well I'm afraid of water! How am I supposed to be a duck if I'm afraid of water?

Marvin the Monkey: You two don't need teeth or water to have a life!

Lenny: But all lions need lots of sharp teeth to catch other animals.

Dave: And all ducks need to be able to swim to travel with the group.  We spend all of our time in the water.

Marvin: Oh come on.  Look at me! I can't climb trees, which is how most monkeys get around and get their food.  But then I found these roller skates, and now I'm the fastest monkey in the forest! And I pick up all of the food the other monkeys drop for me.

Lenny: Wow, I guess you're right!

Marvin: Of course I am.  If you're not able to do something, that just gives you the opportunity to do something else and stand out from everyone else.

Writing Starter #46

Dr. Xingo loved to have friends, but unfortunately everyone in existence considered him insane.

So that he could still have friends, he decided to make friends that weren't already in existence.

He made dogs that were blue... cat's that were pink... hamsters with wings... dinosaurs that could fit in your hand!

He had so many new friends.

But unlucky for Dr. Xingo, everyone else liked his animals too, and they bought them all.

Children's Story Ideas

1. Woody liked to invent his own realities in his head, because they were much easier to win at. 

2. "Whoever you are, whatever you do, be better today than you were yesterday."

3. "People are strange when you're a stranger, faces look ugly when you're alone."

4. Endless creation of all kinds of animals, kids have a new favorite animal each day.

5. A toaster that will turn anything you put in it into gold. 

6. Not everyone is trying to help you out. 

7. Does space begin to change as you go deeper and further?

Writing Starter #45

Adam spends every single day filling his mouth with cotton candy, completely unconcerned with anything else.  After all, it's free, isn't it? His parents gave up on trying to control it, because it is simply everywhere, and even they enjoy the cotton candy.  However, on his way home one day, he sees someone accidentally catch their hand on a branch off of a tree and their arm comes clean off.  It separates into threads and falls to the ground, completely vanishing into the sea of cotton candy. 
As they jump to the ground to try to find it, their other arm comes clean off just as the first did.  Soon their entire body is disintegrating into the feathery substance, until only their head remains, and it is sucked down into the abyss of the cotton candy. 

Writing Starter #44

Dinosaurs rampage through the army zombies, tearing apart the imminent threat that they present to them.  Bodies fly into the air and blood is spattered everywhere.  But as the battle rages on and the remaining humans watch from their air vessels, they begin to notice the dinosaurs start to become discolored and start moving more slowly.  Soon Brontosauri begin to devour each other, but in such a slow and lifeless manor that they have never possessed.  The dinosaurs turn to zombies just as humans did, something no scientist ever saw coming.  Soon a collection on human and dinosaur zombies are roaming among the Earth, completely disinterested in each other but each still craving flesh.

Writing Starter #43

My first thought is to have fun with it without drawing any suspicion.  If I'm going to decide to end world hunger or take over the world, that can all come later after some well thought out decisions.  But right now, at least I can enjoy it.  I decide to go to the zoo, it's the first place that comes to mind where I would be able to take advantage of something like this.  I start with the penguins, and make them start fighting each other, to everyone else's astonishment, until the zookeepers break it up.  Next I make a elephant shoot out dirty water from it's trunk all over a very nicely dressed woman who clearly doesn't want to be there.  Lastly, after feeling quite powerful, as I walk by the ostrich cage, I realize I have a considerable amount of authority with this wand.  I had always disliked ostriches, they simply frightened me.  With a flick of the wand I decided to completely rid the world of ostriches, then I head home.

Science Fiction Story

Lyndon Porter sat in his office overlooking the entire field.  The lights blinking, the motors humming, it was what he enjoyed more than anything.  He gazed down into the bicycling arena, where the real power was managed.  He looked to the production meter; it was only about half full, which was not nearly the normal production by 1800.  But that was to be expected, as the entire graduating class of 2157 had the day off today for their ceremony.

Lyndon had seen many classes coming and going, each with many difficult decisions to make.  He had to decide which graduates would be integrated into society, and which would be "transferred," as they liked to call it.  The term allowed for ignorant people to choose ignorance, but everyone knew where nearly 90% of students went.  Modern society couldn't sustain the luxuries of the entire population, so the clear answer was to eliminate the majority of them.  And while it was a bit of a gruesome tradition, it managed to kill two birds with one stone, as troublesome field workers could be easily eradicated.  This is why the government didn't care if people knew where transfers really went, or even wanted them to know.  It instilled fear into the field workers, and encouraged good, cooperative behavior.

There was one worker, however, that Lyndon would be reluctant to transfer: his son Aaron.  Lyndon had pushed endlessly to try to save his fate, but tragically, the board wouldn't allow it.  Aaron had always been a bit of a revolutionary, the kind of citizen they didn't want influencing society.  Lyndon had always been so hopeful of his son, that some day he would realize how great he had it in the field, that the field was life before pain, before loss.

As he gazed upon the field, watching the slaving, tiring workers, he remembered the days when he was one of them.  He thought of how lucky these young men and women were, to be able to look ahead to a bright future of luxury and prosperity, and to imagine that their work was contributing to it constantly.  Every memory he had was in this place, and he couldn't seem to let go of a single one.  He remembered hiding in the bathroom with his friends before lockdown and secretly roaming the facility all night.  He remembered weeks where he wouldn't stop laughing during a meal.  He remembered the days when he would look forward to spending the rest of his life with his friends, with his sister, with his wife.

A sharp pain seared his head and he looked away, towards the cages.  Lying in the cages were something, and the only thing, that even the most powerful man in the field feared.  To the field workers, they were simply known as snakes because of the way they moved along the floor, and that was how Lyndon always thought of them.  Biologically speaking, however, they were so much more than snakes.  They were a government developed species designed to tear human flesh to shreds.  They were a cross-breeding of a piranha and Komodo Dragon.

What was possibly their greatest weakness was also what Lyndon loved most about them.  These snakes, which were really more like enormous, vicious lizards, required a constant flow of water to each of their six appendages and their mouths.  They would last for a few hours without this, but after that they would grow weak and collapse.

What Lyndon loved about this was the irony.  The energy created by the field workers pumped enough water up to the snakes to keep them going, and also powered every security measure to keep them locked down.  They were supplying their own prison by powering it every second of their lives.  Without the snakes, the security guards wouldn't be able to contain all of the field workers, there were simply too many.

As Lyndon continued to span the room, he began to feel uneasy.  He noticed there were far fewer snakes on guard than normal.  He quickly attributed this to the shortage that occurred every year around the time of graduation.  There would be a sudden drop off in energy due to less workers, so they made energy cuts in the field, which meant less snake cages available.  The day of graduation, however, required even more snakes at the ceremony, which meant less at the field.  It always made Lyndon nervous, as he found a sense of security with the snakes.  He felt that with a powerful, ferocious outside force such as them, it was ridiculous for humans to even consider fighting among each other.

Lyndon listened, and noticed the constant hum of the field had ceased.  He quickly turned towards the workers and realized every worker had gotten off of their machines and began to stare down the guards.  As the guards began to approach them, they stood their ground.  A guard began screaming at a certain worker and began to engage him, and although the worker tried to fight back, he was quickly brought down by the sharp electrocution of his nightstick.  Soon each guard followed, going around attempting to bring down workers one by one.  As with the first, each worker would only begin to fight back when he was attacked, and most didn't stand much of a chance.

Lyndon was confused, this didn't seem like the average revolt that he had seen so many times.  It seemed weak, pointless.  Suddenly he heard a roar, and through the doors came every single graduate, wielding bare fists and an intense rage.  The other workers began to erupt with them, and soon there was revolt coming at the guards from every angle.  The cages opened up and the snakes began to crawl out, but there were only about twenty to the thousands of workers engaging in a full-scale rebellion.  Bodies began flying everywhere, of workers, guards, and snakes.

As Lyndon gazed upon the action, falling into complete shock of what he was seeing, he heard a buzz come from the other direction.  The light above his doorway turned green; it had been unlocked, and he was now in grave danger.  He thought of where he could go.  There was just the one door.  He considered breaking the glass and jumping, but if the fall didn't kill him, he'd be jumping into the greatest and bloodiest revolt he had ever seen.

Just then, as he thought about leaving the door where his attacker would certainly be entering, it opened up, and in marched his son, Aaron Porter.  Wearing his graduation suit in which he was sure  be executed in later that evening, he walked in with an anger in his eyes that had been building up under years of work and oppression.  He charged at his father, wielding a blunt, rusty, but deadly knife.

Lyndon stood motionless.  He thought of every possible way he possessed to fight back.  There was a gun under his chair, another under his desk.  There was tear gas in the ceiling that could be released at the touch of a button.  He could even overpower his son after years of defense training, and most likely turn the knife back onto him.  But as he looked into his son's eyes, he saw the same eyes that he had for the first 30 years of his life, the ones he had hoped he would see until he had died.  Aaron had his mother's eyes from the day he was born.  It froze Lyndon, he could move an inch.  And as he stood there gazing into the terrifying eyes of the greatest love of his life that was stolen away from him, the knife was plunged into his chest, and he fell to the floor, dead.

Writing Starter #42

Doctors will certainly still be necessary in the future.  Intelligent machines may be able to treat a patient if you plug symptoms into it, but may diagnoses aren't that simple.  Also, if such machines were to exist, there are government agencies in place such as the FDA that will require extensive security measures for these machines.  While I do think it could be possible that doctors and drug companies could hold out cures to make more money, most of these companies function on grants and donations already, and if such events started to occur, I believe a system would begin to occur that would require a contract from these companies saying they will release a cure if found, and then people will be more likely to donate to them.

Writing Starter #41

The man walks into the hall and no one is there, which he doesn't seem to find very odd because it is the middle of the night, but he was seeking assistance because he can't figure out how to un-bend his bed, and was told there would be a nurse on staff to help him 24/7.  He goes back into his room and the nurse who had been assisting him is standing there.  He is confused because he doesn't know where she came from, but she explained she must have snuck right by him.  She fixes the bed and he goes back to sleep without suspicion.

Writing Starter #40

The girl becomes obsessed by this dream and begins to draw pictures of the dragon everywhere she goes.  Sometimes the dragon is soaring through the sky, sometimes resting on the ground, sometimes with herself.  She starts calling the name of the dragon, something in ancient Chinese sounding like "Lusari."  One day she tears down all of her posters and draws a spiraling, circular shape on her bedroom wall.  It begins to glow and she whispers to her parents, standing frightened from the doorway, "It's time," and a long red appendage reaches out and pulls her in, then the circular shape on the wall disappears with her.  

Writing Starter #39

She panicked, but didn't want to make a scene.  She was sure it must have been a hallucination, but at the same time so sure of what she saw.  The chilling air that engrossed her entire body was unlike anything she had felt before.  Then, as out of no where, she began to feel the same chill crawl up her right leg, just as before.  She shook her leg and turned to the right, where she saw the same figures appearing near a young boy.  She sprinted toward the boy, whose hand was being taken by the figure.  She swatted at the hand of the gray figure, but as she did, it completely disintegrated into the air, taking the boys arm with it.  A loud cry sprung into her ear immediately, and as she slowly looked to see where it was coming from, she saw the blood streaking and spraying onto the floor out of the gaping red whole that was left on the boy's shoulder in the place of his arm.

Sestina

In an abandoned laboratory slaved a chemist
Surrounded by a sea of lush green
His life's prize so extremely delicate
To wipe away the thought of royalty
They would burn down the propaganda
And evil would reside in isolation

He worked in complete and utter isolation
A lonely, but very hopeful chemist
He enjoyed his freedom from propaganda
Where he could reside in a world bright green
The forest here was royalty
And he slept in its clutch, ever so delicate

His formula couldn't be more delicate
The slightest twitch, he would die in isolation
And the world would live in the tyranny of royalty
He was indeed the most skilled chemist
And had a passion for anything green
He felt himself under the spell of its propaganda

The world needed to be freed from this propaganda
So powerful, yet so extremely delicate
For when attacked by a virus of bright green
Created in the forgotten world in isolation
By an old, angry, and bitter chemist
To seek revenge against the ones sustaining royalty

They sit upon their thrones, an ignorant royalty
Their identities littered among propaganda
Shoved in the face of a talented chemist
Whose tipping point was all too delicate
He fled to a world of isolation
To spread to the world a sea of green

The globe, soon, will only be green
No peasants, no knights, no royalty
Everywhere to go would become isolation
Without a virus of propaganda
The world will flourish powerfully, no longer so delicate
At the hand of a love lost by a chemist

Writing Starter #38

I've been pretty busy since moving to Michigan

I stuck with lacrosse, I hope you did to

I have a great time, but it's a lot of work

It takes some effort to show up so much



I'm staying strong in school the best I can

No idea where I'll go to college

Do you have any clue at all?

It doesn't seem like most people do

Writing Starter #37

I'd love to spend on a day through the eyes of a hippopotomus

Leading the charge to a swamp, so very moist

I would fight the others and emerge triumphant

Or fall in utter defeat

I could move to a pasture of green

And spend the rest of my life withdrawn

Sorry Poem

Declan I'm sorry
For not being a real friend
For abandoning you
At the slightest provocation
I was stupid when I was little
We all were
I would do anything to get ahead
The truth is, I missed the days
When we would hang out together
Thinking of new fantasy worlds to create
Those were the days
When life was easier to figure out
Please forgive me for not standing by you
Like you always did for me

Writing Starter #36

Silence reigns supreme
Stirs around but can't come out
Speak another day

Talks begin to swarm
There's a way out, through a voice
Tension lasts no more

Shakespearean Sonnet

The night grew darker, but I didn't fear

The gangs of ghosts that soon began to show

The end of all the loneliness was near

They all believed I didn't even know

But I had found the key to every door

The door that led me out of danger's clutch

And what was lurking there was even more

More frightening than leaving the door shut

Unleash the beast but not unleash on me

It paves the way for me to soon escape

The walls fall down and soon I'll surely be

Away, at home, at ease, and mostly safe

But terror fills my heart and trembling hands

Because the beast now roams among the land

Writing Starter #35

A true scholar, this man, of the nation of Nepal

His work was thorough, was never stopping

The research of the land, he knew it all

Subhash Ram Prajapati


An author's son, he too would write

On philosophy, religion, culture and art

The highest education gave him the slight

Advantage to give his career a magnificent start

Memory Poem

In 5th grade, my brother Patrick

decided to steal

all of my friends,

or at least the ones

I liked.

Every day, we would go to their house

I convinced myself

they wanted me there too,

but he was older

so he was cooler

and I didn't stand a chance.

I felt betrayed

I felt unwanted

and above all

I felt alone

without anyone to talk to

about how no one would talk to me.

One day I called my old friend Declan

we hadn't been friends for a while

I thought of him as "uncool"

because everyone else did.

We hung out

without my brother

and we had fun all day.

He treated me

the way I wanted to be:

wanted.

Writing Starter #34

The haze, the fog, the erie feeling of the night

Perhaps this is why I am uneasy of what I see

Or it is a sign of what is truly going on

Certainly I could be the only one to notice such a scene

A man lurking in the woods at this hour,

No, this could not end well

Yet I drive on, uncaring of the fate of the resident

Pantoum Poem

Dogs are born to protect

Barking up a storm

Doing what they love

Keep all at bay


Barking up a storm

They know where their ground lies

Keep all at bay

From the cold bitter world


They know where their ground lies

Come so long ago

From the cold bitter world

To the home they now care for


Come so long ago

Doing what they love

To the home they now care for

Dogs are born to protect

Writing Starter #33

Aromas creep from under seats
Fighting for a turn, fighting for attention
The half-eaten hot dog sneaks in from under a seat
A tube of toothpaste rises towards the ceiling
The scents are unsettling, each filled with disgust
They do not agree, not a pair of them
Old-man is defeated by the stronger hobo
And the bag of cranberries can not withstand tomato soup

Ideogram Poem

S A thin chord or tube tangled among itself

C A horseshoe, with a tip broken off of one end

O A large hoop, being lit on fire

T A nice, square table on a small stage

T A large arrow pulled back in a bow, pointed upwards

Writing Starter #32

My shadow walks the floor beneath me

It knows where I have gone

It knows where I rise to the occasion

It knows right where I fall

The thought of it is quite uneasy

The patronage is long

My shadow understands every sensation

Better than them all

Synesthesia Poem

Green is growing and flourishing

It is bright, it is hopeful

Green is delicate, holding on by a single thread

But green is strong

Green holds up the weight of the world with its bare hands

Yet tastes sweet, tastes crisp

It tastes like wet fuji apple picked from the top of a tall tree in the country

Green is a sign of better days to come

Of ambition and of progress

Green brings the hope that things have been changed, so they can be changed back

Writing Starter #31

No one quite as daring as the man named Christoph Towne

He searched for the greatest art collection, till his world came tumbling down

A hotel lobby came from the clue, it must be there, this he knew

But he sank through the floor and hit like a rock, the treasure he had found

His whole life's work was validated, for right before his eyes

Littered the floor, coming out the door, Da Vinci's enterprise

The paintings began to bustle about, and without pause Towne let out a shout

For in that moment, they stole his life, and the art began to arise

Best Thing Poem

"Rhode Island"

The best part is that it rests
So loosely into the ocean

Or perhaps the boats between the two,
which are constantly in motion

Maybe the smell is the best part
of fish and clams and beaches

But the beach itself is oh so great
where the gentle ocean reaches

The rocky terrain along the beach
where hikes and jogs don't end

But the best part truly is who is with me:
my father, my best friend

Writing Starter #30

Dear Tree,

Your bark is the roughest in all of the land.

You outstretch your touch with your leaf of a hand.

What do you think, or do you only just grow?

You can't seem to talk so it's difficult to know.

Yet you remain steady, day after dar.

To be just like that, is what I pray.

Quiet/Noisy Poem

A meth-head crushed by an ATM machine.

A cancer patient in the crawl space goes completely mad.  

An acid soaked body melts through the ceiling.  

And I sit at home watching Breaking Bad.  

A redneck handcuffed to a ceiling.  

A zombie turns a white man red.  

A samurai gouges a governor's eye out.

And I sit at home watching the Walking Dead.  

The stock market rises, then falls again.  

An olympic hero with a blood stained knife.  

The threat of the world going up in flames.  

And I sit at home not concerned with real life.  

Writing Starter #29

Barfs.
Always dirty.
Eats my food.
But Roxy does much more.
"Protects" our home.
Sleeps quietly.
Pleasant.

Writing Starter #28

1. A maple leaf

2. The maple leaf looks very old, but still firm and still holding on to life, like an old man who goes jogging every morning.  It is delicate, but not willing to give up.  It feels smooth with the occasional wrinkle here and there.  It feels dry, like your hands when you wake up from a nap.  It smells not like maple syrup on your pancakes, but perhaps a teaspoon of maple syrup mixed into a gallon of gravel.  The scent is faint, but it is certainly there.

3. Soft maple leaves litter the ground
Faint and weak, so easily torn
But when they fall, they make no sound
For to be broken, they were born

Writing Starter #27

Verse:
You think that you got problems
Why don't you look out the window
People running around
But they don't know where to go
Don't focus on yourself
And don't do it for attention
Just try to pretend
It didn't need to be mentioned

Chorus:
Just because it matters doesn't mean it's the world
Quit taking yourself so seriously
There's a hell of a lot that people need some more of,
So get out there and help the world be free

Song Lyrics

Verse:
It was an early, breezy morning
Underneath the trees
My feet were all but rested
My mind was so at ease
I don't know where it comes from
Or who could make a choice
The world comes crashing down on me
And I can't find a voice

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak up now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Verse:
Walking through history
You feel the history inside
Of a life that came before you
Filled with dignity and pride
I don't know where it comes from
Or who could make a choice
The world comes crashing down on me
And I can't find a voice

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak wup now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Bridge:
Beneath a grey and gloomy sky
The owls and the rabbits will shudder and hide
Then out streaks a beam of solid white

Chorus:
There ain't a place in this world
Where life is not worth livin'
But just to make livin' work,
We're gonna let the world keep bleedin'
I'll try to speak wup now and again
But all I can get out
Is the faint, sad whisper
Of hopeless doubt

Writing Starter #26

Courage abundant in Jessica Kemp,
he still could only wonder
what lied inside the blood red cave:
a dog as loud as thunder

Writing Starter #25

I run out my morning but the clock was still 
Turned out some hours to waste my time 
I keep myself writing a thin song 
I fathom my head and it slipped my mind 

It's worse than your feeling 
(More scarce a famine) 
When you hear your old dream they dared to see 
(More lost a dream) 
I remain dreaming 
(More slippery a salmon) 
'Til you see animals walk me 
I am my own, walkin' me 

Writing Starter #24

Protected by the shudders of red
On my car I once cut my head
From the pets I run away
Every single day
To the safety of my very own bed

Writing Starter #23

Once I ate a chocolate bar
Then threw up so very far
It hurt so bad that I'd cry
Tasted awful, my oh my
Once I ate a chocolate bar
Then threw up so very far

Showing vs. Telling

Telling: The black dog was terrified of strangers, especially those who wore hats.

Showing: Roxy leapt onto Mr. Snare, bringing blows with her paws one by one to his torso.  Her dusty, charcoal fur bounced around, occasionally falling out.  She persisted, bringing him up against a wall, until his Cleveland Indians ball cap was pushed loose and fell to the floor.  She dug her teeth into the brim of the hat and sprinted off to the living room.  Rips and tears could be heard across the house, as well as aggressive snarls and growls.  She returned triumphantly once the hat was completely shredded.

Telling: The old teacher spent most of his days yelling at his class.

Showing: Mr. Burton flailed around his chair, which was clearly not made for those who struggle to sit up.  Two teenage boys in the back of the class were throwing balls of paper across the room, hitting everyone but each other.  His hoarse voice called out at them.  They picked up their heads and sat up to pay attention.  Mr. Burton continued on to describe the process of mitosis as he was struck in the head by a large eraser.  He lashed around in frustration, still incapacitated from more than simple rotation by his chair.  A young girl in the front row began to giggle, amused by his inability to appear intimidating.

Telling: The young man had a way of making those around him always feel good.

Showing: Christopher strolled the hall with a certain confidence, the kind of confidence that could only come with a great deal of humility.  He darted a welcome greeting to Mrs. Wilk, the elderly physics teacher.  As he passed up the stairway he doled a number of pats on the back and high-fives, each just as sincere as the other.  Arriving at his next class, he commented on the shirt of his government teacher Mr. Fragen, who burst out laughing, clearly amused by the young man's presence.  As he sat down a few teenage boys his age arrived to ask him for his brilliant insight on the latest episode of The Walking Dead, and left satisfied with what they were told.

Writing Starter #22

I cruised down the street in my old Subaru

I looked around, not one car, but two

Their sirens blaring, I tried to sneak through

What happened next? Well I wish I still knew

Writing Starter #20

If I were to only listen to one song for the rest of my life, I would have to go with "The Sound of Silence" by Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel.  I'm very hesitant to pick this song because I just started listening to it, but I have a feeling that it's one of those songs that never gets old.  The song goes on about the "sound of silence" and how people seem to be worshipping it and "no one dared disturb" it.  It talks about how people are doing great things but can't communicate them so that they can preserve the silence.  In addition to the meaning and substance behind the lyrics, it also is a terrific song, filled with great harmonies.  In addition, I think it grasps the situation of only being able to listen to one song for the rest of my life pretty well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvsX03LOMhI

Writing Starter #21

None of my neighbors are nearly as enthusiastic as I am about St. Patrick's Day! There isn't even a hint of green on anyone's house, except for the Hendersons', but it's just the green shutters they've always had, and even then they're more of a puke-green than a St. Patty's Day-green.  I march over to my next door neighbor Chris Morgan and ask him where his Irish spirit is.  Chris goes on to explain to me that people just aren't that into St. Patrick's Day.  They'll go out and celebrate put they just aren't going to put that much work into a minor holiday.  He also seems to get a little annoyed that I apparently freak out like this every year about the lack of Patty's day spirit.  Well I won't take it.  There are far too many free loaders on this, the mother of all holidays.  I'll just have to make sure they learn their lesson this time around.

Memoir Draft

Growing up, I'm not sure that I understood how quiet I used to be.  I always found peace in keeping to myself and conversing with my thoughts.  I didn't find the need to speak up unless I specifically needed something, and even then I often didn't feel like going to the trouble.  However, I never comprehended how strange I might seem.

If I were to take a few days and tally up how many words someone were to say, and then compare them to my own, perhaps I would have realized the difference between the rest of the world and me.  Actually, I'm surprised I didn't.  Statistics were sort of my thing back then.

Once I became more comfortable with someone or somewhere, I tended to open up a little bit, letting the endless thoughts pacing through my head leak slightly out of my mouth.  By the time I had been going to the same school with the same 15 kids in my grade in Portsmouth, Rhode Island for seven years, I had become pretty comfortable.  Not comfortable enough to share any words with actual substance with anyone, but enough to occasionally make conversation.

Then, one day, my mom sat me down to tell me that we're moving to Michigan where the rest of her side of our family lived.  Though it never managed to make its way out, one thought continue to circulate in my head: here we go again.

We moved on October 21st, 2006.  My first day of fifth grade at this new school was October 25th, a wednesday.  I hated moving, and I hated wednesdays.  Combining them only made sense.

When I arrived to my first day of school, I wasn’t too sure of what to expect, and it didn’t matter much to me what presented itself.  I had a simple strategy, don’t say anything.  I never knew how to say the right thing, so I wasn’t going to try.  Just keep to yourself until you manage to become comfortable with them, I thought.   

I was sent to Mrs. Dutcher's class, immediately bombarded with other students who didn't seem to comprehend that I wasn't in the business of talking to them. Why did they find it so difficult to understand that I wasn't going to talk to them? I'm the new kid, I'm not gonna talk for a while, that is that.

Well, in years to come I would realize why they found it so difficult. In my years to come I would encounter more new students, who were just as social and talkative as they would ever be. They were eager to make a good first impression, whereas I wanted to simply let one sink in over time. I realized from them that I was the strange one, that it wasn't the norm to stay in solitary for weeks before opening up to someone.

At the time, however, I stayed committed to the game plan. I'd let them try to be my friend, because to do otherwise would require confrontation and, well, talking. And talking of course was completely out of the question.

At one point I was approached by a student with a camera, apparently making a video for a class I had yet to experience. He started asking me questions about all kinds of stuff. Stuff I had no answer to. I mean I probably had some kind of answer, but not the kind I would talk about! Stuff like, where I used to live, my old friends' names, my siblings, it was a little ridiculous. But the worst part is that he had the nerve to record it, to document my declination to talk, so that people will remember it once I've conquered my shyness.

One day, Mrs. Dutcher sent me out into the hall to work on something with another student. She wanted Graham and I to measure out the lengths of the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, the three boats that Columbus took to the new world, so that the class could see just how big they were. While we were out there, Graham got out of me that we lived in the same neighborhood, had a few of the same interests, and told me that he was actually new to Dexter that year too, arriving just a couple months earlier. Mrs. Dutcher must've had a feeling about us, because we went on to become great friends, and still are to this day.

Writing Starter #19

I have thought a lot about the future, and how different it could be.  With nuclear missiles seeming increasingly unstable and with the world becoming more and more dependent on technology, it's obvious that our population could, in theory, disappear in an instant.  In terms of medicine, I certainly think that doctors will continue to be necessary.  While some diseases may be cured by then, others will certainly remain, and I believe that we will not put delicate surgery into the hands of machines, especially when the slightest error could cause something to go horribly wrong.  Doctors will also be extremely necessary in emergency rooms, as well as simply observing patients to try to figure out what is wrong.  However, machines could start to take the jobs of doctors in terms of diagnoses, if they could simply plug in symptoms, and the machine would prescribe the correct medication.  As far as withholding cures goes, I do not believe scientists are likely to keep cures for themselves.  If this information is put into the hands of an individual at any time, I believe that either the moral obligation or the financial incentive would be enough for them turn it over to the public.  At that point, I believe it is only the information that matters.  Whether the company may have a right to the cure or not, if people know about, they will find a way to make it work.

Writing Starter #18

My favorite book, or books, was the Magic Treehouse series.  I was never a huge reader as a little kid, but these books were pretty short and very easy to comprehend so I didn't have much trouble with them.  I really enjoyed how every story brought a different element to the plot.  I liked all of the different settings that it took place in.  My favorite parts were wen the stories tied together to explain more of what was going on.  It was the first time that I ever read something like that.  It was pretty much the first time I read anything remotely significant.  I blew my mind how it could all come together like that.

Writing Starter #17

I feel most comfortable when I am alone at my house, sitting on my couch, watching TV.  The only other people there are my dog Roxy, and Walt and Jesse from Breaking Bad on my TV, or maybe Rick and Shane from The Walking Dead.  I have a can of Diet Sunkist and a bowl of Cheez-Its.  I have my red striped pajama pants on, the thermostat is set to 65ºF.  I sit on my couch endessly watching my favorite TV shows on Netflix, but I've never seen them before so every plot twist gets me.  This is the place where I can really unwind and just relax.

Writing Starter #16

Gripping the rubbery, bumpy handles of my first bike, I began to put my legs in motion.  I began to pick up speed and the air seemed to be whisking by me.  It blew into my ears under my helmet, encapsulating me in what I was doing, completely immune from all other sound, like I was on top of a jet turbine.  The air carried from the field at the end of our street, and I could smell it getting closer to me.  I looked straight ahead, focused only on where I was going, with every one of my neighbors brushing by me.  I tasted the fresh air rushing into my mouth, filling me up.

Writing Starter #15

When my mom first told me that we were moving to Michigan, I was extremely reluctant at first.  I wasn't a fan of change.  And I really wasn't a fan of trying to make new friends.  I knew I couldn't do it.  I had always the been the shy kid, the kid who couldn't talk to anyone I didn't know well.  I felt like everything that I had been working for in the first 10 years of my life was suddenly a complete waste.  Like when you play a video game for 10 hours without saving and then it shuts down on you.  It feels like the biggest waste of your life.  Except that this time, it was my entire life.  However, looking back at what my life was in Rhode Island, what my life is like here, where my friends ended up there and where I ended up here, I wouldn't trade this life for anything.  I enjoy and appreciate the life that I have now more than I ever would have if we hadn't moved.

Writing Starter #14

I was talking on my cell phone to my brother.  We were discussing how he was going to get into town without a car or anyone to bring him in.  Suddenly, my vulture Cogburn flew through the open window and heard me utter my brother's name, Chris.  This made him a very angry bird.  My brother had never approved of the domestication of wild animals and Cogburn knew it.  Not because he thought they didn't enjoy it.  That theory went out the window years ago.  But he thought they were too uncontrollable in human society.

"He is not coming here!" Cogburn squawked.

"Oh come on, he isn't that bad," I responded calmly.

"Not that bad?!" Cogburn remarked.  "Last time he was here, he tried to use a stapler to attach my wings together!  And when that didn't work, he nearly took off my head with a baseball bat!"

6 word memoir

Envisioning a bright, though brutal, future.

Writing Starter #13

Someone whom I admire is my dad.  I've always wanted to be like him because he truly is the smartest person I know, and has a very high intellectual ability.  Not only that, but he is very good at many things, and throughout his life has touched in many fields and excelled in all of them.  Me and him think very similarly, and someday I hope that I could become like him.  He has so much knowledge in his big bald head, that I would feel terrific to know that someday I would achieve half of that.

6 word stories

1.  Country in trouble, girl in control.

2.  Lifetime of experience, moment of doubt.  

3.  Greatest charade in history of politics.  

Writing Starter #12

I never got the childhood that I was promised.  I was never treated the way that a child is supposed to be treated.  While others were being brought up by love and care, I was in the real world, learning how to fend for myself.

But now that I have to chance to take that all back, I don't wish to.  I've turned out stronger because of it, and I am proud of who I am.  Instead, I'll take the childhood that I was promised but never received and give it back to someone else, because everyone deserves a childhood.

Flash Fiction #2

Plants don’t hurt.  Plants aren’t selfish.  Plants don’t start war.  Plants don’t drain the world of its natural resources.  Plants aren’t evil.  That’s why I don’t feel bad about what I do.  

I released a toxin into Mr. Wiggin’s office and sat back to watch him die.  After a few minutes he dropped, and no one had any clue.  When they did find out, they’d blame it on some kind of carbon monoxide poisoning.  

I don’t feel bad about it.  How many lives has this man taken? 6,000 Banyans in Indonesia.  10,000 Moabis in the Congo.  3,000 Cryillas in North Carolina.  This man deserved his fate.  

In a few years, the world will be rid of rich executives who don’t care about the lungs of this world.  In a few years, the plants will be liberated, and their slaveowners slain.  In a few years, my job will be done here.  

Writing Starter #11

The craziest part about my family is that they are all very similar in how clever they are.  Everyone loves to make jokes and they all make jokes in the same way.  So when we get together, the jokes just never stop, and neither does the laughter.  For example, for some reason my brother Patrick, my dad and I love to get each other really stupid presents for any celebration that we give gifts, like Christmas or a birthday.  So when we get together for Christmas we end up with gifts like Shamwow, the Chia Shrek, and  Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits.

Flash Fiction #1

We washed up 37 days ago on a deserted island.  I don't know where we are, but it can't be far from Hawaii where the eight of us left from.  

I stumbled upon the radio from the faulty plane dropped we crashed in.  It had washed up on the shore about 3 miles from our camp.  I panicked, grabbed it, and ran to the forest.  

I tried to dig a hole with my wooden spear and eventually just started shoveling with my open hands. I threw the radio in, filled it back up with dirt, then threw some leaves on top.  

Everyone else was desperate to get back to their families, to their lives.  I had no family, my life was no better than it is here.  As far as I was concerned, we had food, we had water, and I was still on vacation.  I wasn't giving this up.  

Writing Starter #10

I'll never forget about every time my grandpa tried to talk to me about my French Horn.  He would always say the same exact thing, every time he wanted to talk about it.  He would always say how fascinated he was by how many ways you could make a sound, and by how many ways there were to change the pitch.  You of course could use your mouth, you could use the valves, or you could use your hand.  Eventually I could predict exactly what he would say every time he brought it up.  But I still loved hearing it.

Writing Starter #9

Jeffery Henrikson was in the middle of mixing in the corn flour when his boss, Mr. Bell, called him into his office.  He walked in with hesitation.
"I really like the way you handle coconut oil, Henrikson," Bell said.  "You take a very original approach.  I appreciate originality.  You remind me of myself at a younger age. I've decided to promote you to Yellow 5 Supervisor.  See if you can bring some of that classic Henrikson innovation to that department."
"Wow, thank you so much sir!" Jeffery responded.  "I promise I won't let you down!"
"Oh, I'm sure you won't," Bell explained.  "You're one of the good ones, trust me I can tell.  Who knows, maybe someday I'll send you up to Yellow 6!"
Jeffery chuckled.
"Watch out for that Thiamin Mononitrate up there though," Bell warned.  "It's in the air.  We've lost a lot of good men from that stuff."

Writing Starter #8

Then I thought to myself, why let this get me down.  I had a Sports Illustrated sitting on my kitchen table, a fresh cup of coffee, some fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a warm cheese omelet.  Just because I find a dead handyman on my floor, doesn't mean I need to mope around and ruin a perfectly good day.

Short Story

This is the story of the most incredible person I have ever met, and of the most spectacular and horrific deception I have ever witnessed.

I walked slowly up the steps to accept my position.  It was an expected announcement, of course.  They don't want any complications with this kind of spectacle for the media to run with.  But for the public, this was sudden, and I could feel the pressure building from either side of the nation.  With one quick decision I was loved and respected by half who were filled with nothing but anticipation and despised and criticized by the other, who were filled with anticipation nonetheless.

I felt as if I were gliding across the stage, completely numb of all action.  It was strange, this was the only thing that had crossed my mind in the past few days.  Well, that's not true.  Nearly everything that has ever crossed my mind had made a reappearance in the past few days.  Nervousness about performing in my high school play 29 years ago had crossed my mind in the past few days.  Guilt about getting a ticket on my way to school after only having my license for a month had crossed my mind in the past few days.  However, these thoughts had all come up while I was trying to focus on how to accomplish one task, walking across a stage.  And now that it is time, I can't seem to control my body one way or the other.  My body isn't leaving anything up to me, for fear that my brain might screw it up.

Before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination: Hugh Sainz, the Republican presidential candidate.  He stood straight, at least 6'3" with a broad, powerful frame and only slightly graying hair.  This is what I had been training myself for.  Make a good impression.  My hand made its way upward, careful to remain firm at all times, showing no signs of weakness.  He quickly took my hand, and suddenly his stern expression relaxed, and he gave me a warm smile that wrinkled his face and instantly eased my tension.  His firm, confident voice eased me, let me know that this was a man that I could follow.  "Welcome aboard, kid."

He released my hand, and as I expected him to walk off the stage so that I could take the podium, he simply stood there, and his warm smile became oddly uncomfortable.  He seemed unsure, as if he didn't know what to do.  Suddenly, another faced I recognized rushed onstage.  It was Sainz's young, feeble  campaign manager, Carolina Basel.  She wore glasses and her hair up, with a high-pitched, weak voice that made her seem uneasy, as if she were trying to convey her power when really it was hard to take her seriously.  She seemed to me such a strange choice, more as a secretary or assistant to Sainz.  But it also seemed to make sense.  Why pull around another confident, strong, middle-aged man to run the campaign, when that's exactly what you already have in your candidate.  At least in this situation you have someone to get you coffee.  She seemed to tug him along to the other side of the stage when she arrived at the podium.  "Come on sir, busy schedule."

This was it.  As much as I wished my career could be fixated on how I can walk across a stage, I would have to prove myself, starting now.  It was the time for me to give my first speech as the Republican Vice Presidential Candidate, Vernon Holmquist.

__________________________


Three months later, I had noticed some shocking details concerning the man who was now referred to as President Hugh Sainz.  He would often sit in his office for hours on end, not sure of what to do, until the phone would ring.  He wasn't very close to his family at all.  I had also never had any legitimate conversation with him in private.  The oddest part, however, was that as soon as we reached the media or the public or were exposed to the outside world in any, he became the man that I previously knew and respected.  His conversation flowed, he was as convincing and persuasive as anyone I could imagine.

I was simply baffled by this thought, I couldn't sleep at night, I was far too preoccupied with what was going on with this half-mindless man who also happened to be the most important in the country.  Was he going mad? Was I going mad? I needed to talk to someone, someone who must have noticed this too.  I knew exactly who to talk to.

"Excuse me, Ms. Basel?" I shouted as I saw her at the other end of the hall.  I walked briskly up to her as confidently as I could, even with my mind as rattled as it has ever been.

She whisked around, catching her breath. "Oh, you frightened me sir," she said with the dainty, powerless voice that I had associated with the young girl I had noticed before this tobacle.  "And please, call me Carolina."

And there it was. Suddenly, I had realized what was going on.  This young girl, previously the Campaign Manager and now the Chief of Staff to the President, was miles ahead of her years in terms of significance to the nation, especially for a girl with such little force, and such little confidence. Or so I thought.  You see, the president was not the only one who had become a completely different person since I had seen behind the scenes of the white house.  This girl suddenly grew a backbone.  She was bossing the president around, she was correcting the president, and almost every time the president answered the phone with instruction on what to do, it was her.  She was orchestrating this whole charade.

"I know everything," I said to her bluntly.

Suddenly, her cheery, schoolgirl smile morphed into a stern glare that I had never seen from her before.  "I knew it was only a matter of time.  You're smarter than I anticipated, Vernon.  I was just looking for another mindless puppet.  But you've certainly posed quite a problem.  Well, the way I see it, you have three options." Her confidence shocked me, although I had seen the more honest side of her in past months, I had never seen this fiercely aggressive version of her before.

"Option one," she began, "I can assassinate you in the next couple days.  I don't think you want that, so let's move on.  Option two, you agree to let me fake your assassination, by an unstable citizen who doesn't particularly agree with your ideology.  Then you can move away, take your family with you, live a remote anonymous life.  Or option three, you keep going through the next 8 years, keep your mouth shut, be a part of the greatest presidency known to mankind, and probably get on the fast track towards the becoming the president yourself.  Option three sounds pretty good to me."

"You forgot an option," I responded.

"Oh ya, and what's that option?"

"Option four, I go to the media, and I tell them everything.  I tell them how you've planned out every last moment of this charade.  I tell them that the courageous, knowledgable president that we know and love is really the biggest idiot to ever live in this country.  I tell them, and your whole plan comes crashing down."

"Oh please, you won't go to the media.  I know you, and I know that you love this country too much.  You go to the media and not only does my plan fall apart, this country falls apart.  People will spiral into a panic.  And you know that the next four years will be much better for this country if I'm running the show.  I make a damn good president, Mr. Volmquist, and you know it."

I was stunned.  She was right.  This country would be much better off with her calling the shots.  She was incredible.  Not only was this being predicted as one of the greatest presidencies of all time, she was pulling it off without anyone even knowing she had any influence whatsoever.  "Alright then, I guess I'll take option two."

"Suit yourself.  Pack your bags, you'll be assassinated in a few days, I'll send you wherever you want."

I felt so destroyed, so belittled by this young little innocent girl.  She had known everything about me.  She was ready for everything I had to throw at her.  She was a mastermind.  She was wrong about one thing, however.  She thought that I wouldn't throw a wrench in this plan because I cared too much about this country.  But that was far from the truth.  I could give or take this country, and the messes it has gotten itself into.  This country could use a good wake up call as to how oblivious it is.  But I still could not unmask this charade.  I respected it too much.  I respected Carolina too much.  She had done everything that I wish I could.  She had overcome such great odds to become something so great.  She was the most incredible person I had ever met.

Writing Starter #7

"Hey, get your finger out of my yogurt!"

"Your yogurt deserves this, Adam!"

"What did my yogurt do to you?"

"Shall we start at the beginning?"

"WHY NOT!"

"It all started last year, when it split my parents up."

"How?"

"They were having this same argument."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Plus, it's raspberry! Gross!"

Writing Starter #6

The one thing that I am the most interested in is certainly a great story.  I am even surprising myself by saying this, given my low level of reading compared to others I know, but I am sure that when I can get into a great book, I am filled with a level of enjoyment and interest that nothing can compare to.  When a book can compel me with a great story and interesting language, and also push me to think about new ideas, I wouldn't want to be doing anything else.  However, with so much else to accomplish in a day, when it comes to school, sports, extracurricular activities, reading often takes a backseat in my life.  The goal of getting into a great college with a solid grade point average and other activities on my application has taken over the majority of my time, leaving me with no time to pursue anything that I truly love.

Writing Starter #5

You can't understand true frustration until you are crippled by communication.  The feeling of knowing exactly what you would say if only you were capable is like the feeling of stepping on a nail and not having the strength to lift your foot.  I knew exactly what I would say, that we could live in peace, that war wasn't inevitable.  But as soon as I would open my mouth at an attempt to communication, only one idea would be communicated, an idea that I already understand.  You would realize that there is no form of communication between us, that our kind are too different.  We were raised on different worlds, and were not made to ever come in contact.  But technology, growth, irresistible destination have brought us together, to only one foreseeable outcome.  One of us must cease to exist.

Short Story Structure

Stasis: Darren works every day from 9 to 5 running his family's laundromat "The Bowsher Washer." He spends his days supervising the building, reading books, and dreaming of going to the exotic worlds of the characters he reads of.  While he primarily is the only employee at the business, he answers to his father nearly everyday about what he is doing wrong.

Trigger: One day, while inspecting every machine (one of the many tedious tasks required by his father before closing) he spots a small coin of a currency that he does not recognize.

The Quest: After running his finger along the coin in an attempt to clean it off, he is whisked away and suddenly finds himself in some sort of marina area, although it doesn't seem modern at all.  He soon finds that he has somehow has traveled in time and space, and believes that the coin had something to do with it.

Surprise: Soon Darren rubs the coin again, whisking him away to ancient chinese culture.  He is soon attacked and tries again, bringing him to a barren arctic wasteland.  He continues to repeat this into many different areas, soon to be encountered by a group of what seems to him to be monks, telling him to give them the coin and they will send him home.  They seem very hostile to him, so he quickly escapes, into a standoff from a group of Spanish conquistadors.  Soon a monk appears next to him.  The monk is shot, and he whispers to Darren as he is dying that his kind control these coins, keeping them safe and out of the wrong hands.

Critical Choice: Darren escapes into a futuristic, prosperous city.  Not like he often envisioned it, with flying cars and halograms, but how he wished it would be.  No violence, no poverty, no trouble.  However, after enjoying this world, he sees strange figures appear, looking for him.  He realizes he must choose to find the monks in some other time instead of staying in his dream world.

Climax: After darting between times and places, trying his best to reach the place where he first ran into the monks, he ends up back into the future that he had been in, but now it is completely destroyed, fire burning down buildings, mobs running through the streets.  The strange figures who have been terrorizing this world show up again to take the coin from him.  He runs and finds one of the monks, and tosses the coin to him.  Immediately, ends up where he first found the coin, in the same position, but with nothing in his hand.

Reversal: Upon arriving home, he goes to his father and tells him he will no longer be working with him, and has decided to open up a book store and attempt to become a writer.

Resolution: While working on his first novel and looking over the store that is just starting, a woman comes to him to buy a book that has been his favorite for years, one that he thought was completely unknown to others.  She tells him that it is her favorite by far.  They strike up a very nice conversation.

Writing Starter #4

If I were a cartoon character, I am sure I would take more risks.  Cartoon characters face life or death situations on a daily basis, and the worst they come out with are broken bones and bandages that manage to heal in minutes.  I would no longer have to worry about the repetitiveness of everyday life. Cartoon characters don't deal with tedious activities, they deal with adventure.  You don't see cartoon characters filing for unemployment and cutting down on unnecessary spending to save money.

Writing Starter #3

Carl Strandberg:

1. The greatest thing to happen, or so he thought at the time, was to be chosen as the running mate for Republican presidential candidate Mick Richards.  However, he soon realized how much of an incompetent doof Richards truly is, and how much trouble the country will be in if he starts calling the shots.

2. Strandberg is slowly falling for the president's Chief of Staff/Campaign Manager Margaret Stephens.  She is a very aggressive politician, committed to covering up the idiocy of Richards and using him as her puppet.

3. Obviously, Strandberg is a conservative, and a strong member of the Republican party.

4. Strandberg has always dreamed of becoming the President of the United States, and at first saw spending 4 or 8 years under a wise political expert that he believed to be Richards as a huge stepping stone towards this goal.  However, he now realizes that in order to save the country from the madness that is the Richards charade, he may need to attempt stepping into this position sooner rather than later.