More student writing
In one of my recent school visits, at Liberty Hill Middle School in Kileen, Texas, I gave the students a list of words and seven minutes to start a story using ALL of the words. This is what Adelyn G. came up with in (in seven minutes!) (underlined words are from the list:
Drew Desilver overlooked the city below his office. He sat in a chair. A squeaky chair. Too squeaky. With a swivel of the chair and a tangle of searching, he found a small piece of paper lodged within the mechanism of the swivel chair. On it was the number eight. To untrained eyes that is. He grabbed a magnifying glass and cleared the blur of a sentence written in the shape of an infinity sign. It read:
Halt, picture an alley. I stand in wait.
“Haltwood alley,” Drew whispered. He passed his contact and received a small note, his new case file. Drew was a professional man. A man that saw all. Within the case he would find only the face of the victim. The picture was angled at 98 degrees exactly. This meant this was a victim of murder. Desilver sighed. Murderers were always too messy, left too much, told too many. He examined the face and fainted. Life returned to him three weeks later.
The victim was his own mother.
Drew Desilver overlooked the city below his office. He sat in a chair. A squeaky chair. Too squeaky. With a swivel of the chair and a tangle of searching, he found a small piece of paper lodged within the mechanism of the swivel chair. On it was the number eight. To untrained eyes that is. He grabbed a magnifying glass and cleared the blur of a sentence written in the shape of an infinity sign. It read:
Halt, picture an alley. I stand in wait.
“Haltwood alley,” Drew whispered. He passed his contact and received a small note, his new case file. Drew was a professional man. A man that saw all. Within the case he would find only the face of the victim. The picture was angled at 98 degrees exactly. This meant this was a victim of murder. Desilver sighed. Murderers were always too messy, left too much, told too many. He examined the face and fainted. Life returned to him three weeks later.
The victim was his own mother.
Student writing
I love to work on creative writing with students. Recently I met with middle and high school students from West Oso school district. We were working in just a 50-minute block. At one point they were given no more than ten minutes and told to use as many words as they could from a list that included crack, halt, honey and feet. Here are the beginnings of two of the stories I heard.
Tom stood up on his feet and looked out the window in wonder. Everything before the escape was a blur, but it was a miracle they were safe. Tom was starting to see the bigger picture. He was adrift in space with two other people he was sure were crazy. He saw the two said people, DeeDee and Emmett, sitting in their chairs and staring at him, their eyes filled with confusion and fear. Tom was about to say something but came to a halt, because he realized he had nothing to say. He looked out into the infinity of space. He started to feel sick to his stomach. “Look,” Tom said with a slight voice crack, “we’re probably the last humans in the universe, so let’s just take a minute to think about what just happened.”
—Isaac M.
The day Willa Rodriquez died, honey was dripping from my front door. It wasn’t a surprise. In my heart, I knew it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.
The decision wasn’t easy, but the darkness had begun to spread throughout Orion, a whisper plaguing my dreams: choose, choose, choose.
—Delia P.
Tom stood up on his feet and looked out the window in wonder. Everything before the escape was a blur, but it was a miracle they were safe. Tom was starting to see the bigger picture. He was adrift in space with two other people he was sure were crazy. He saw the two said people, DeeDee and Emmett, sitting in their chairs and staring at him, their eyes filled with confusion and fear. Tom was about to say something but came to a halt, because he realized he had nothing to say. He looked out into the infinity of space. He started to feel sick to his stomach. “Look,” Tom said with a slight voice crack, “we’re probably the last humans in the universe, so let’s just take a minute to think about what just happened.”
—Isaac M.
The day Willa Rodriquez died, honey was dripping from my front door. It wasn’t a surprise. In my heart, I knew it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.
The decision wasn’t easy, but the darkness had begun to spread throughout Orion, a whisper plaguing my dreams: choose, choose, choose.
—Delia P.
Samples from a 7th grade writing club in New Hampshire
C.O.I.
by Zander
Chapter 1: Meow!
Metal scraped along concrete, sparks coming from steel claws, the remnants of the fur that used to hide the beast underneath.
So many bits and pieces were welded onto what looked like a mutant cat the size a small house.
At least that's what I imagined, hiding behind a block of concrete that fell from a building, clutching an empty rifle to my chest, about as useful as a twig against a boulder. My body shook, the scrapes getting louder. I started to see sparks fly around the corner, My heart sank further into the black abyss that was created when this all started. I trained for years to be a soldier for this country. I thought I knew how I'd die while deployed, but I never expected to die from an oversized metal house cat. Its head moved past the corner, staring at me.
Then its full body came into view, every mangled piece of metal and bolt all melted together. Its jaw opened, then snapped wider, the head and jaw becoming completely vertical, revealing a mesh of speakers and wires welded together. A robotic voice echoed out into the sky “Please, do not-” it sounded like a broken record, repeating the word ‘not' for a few seconds. Once ‘not' had completely lost its meaning, it sparked, then continued its speech “please do not- not move. Police enforcements are-” the speaker snapped into static and a high pitched squeal, nearly deafening me. I stepped back and tripped over a rock. Just as my head hit the ground, I heard a crack, a pop. I thought it was my skull shattering against concrete, but when i saw the face of the metal devil that was before me a minute ago, sparking, its face horizontal with mine. Missing an eye.
And I realized the pop was a gunshot.
=================================
When It Rains
By Grace
It was raining quite hard. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. She was running fast. Her feet pounded against the forest floor, her breath came in short rasps. It was unclear what she was running from. Something dark, something powerful, something deadly. She stopped to catch her breath, but only heard the rain. The creature chasing her had stopped, but her guard wasn’t down. She stepped behind a tree, her heart pounding in her
ears. The monster came raging back through the forest, and stopped.
Right across from the tree where the girl was hiding, it breathed heavily as it searched for the girl. From behind the tree, the girl’s only barrier between life and death, she silently loaded her bow with an arrow and drew the string back. The monsters back was to her. She let go of the arrow, sending it flying through the rain. It pierced the monster’s flesh. The monster was particularly scrawny, but it had muscle. It shrieked as the arrowhead lodged itself in it back. It shriek rang through the forest, it sounded like grief, guilt, sorrow, and pain. Almost like a person mourning.
The girl knew she had wounded it and took the monsters moment of weakness to escape. The rain fell harder now, blurring the girl’s vision. She knew she didn’t have long before the monster started chasing her again. She was right, she heard that mournful shriek once more. The girl didn’t panic, she knew these woods like a mother knows her own child. The girl knew the monster wasn’t far behind, so she drew another arrow in the direction she came in. She could hear everything, the rain, the monster’s running, her own heartbeat. She breathed in slowly, and shot the arrow to her right. The arrow struck right in the monster’s forehead. It cried so loudly, the girl could hear it over the thunder. She wounded the monster much more now than before, because it didn’t get up. The girl approached the monster with caution, another arrow drawn back in her bow. She inched forward ever so slowly to avoid certain death. Then swiped the arrow back from the monsters already scared face.
“Face is the wrong word.” The girl thought, for the monster had no facial features. She didn’t stop to study it further, for it would probably gain consciousness soon. She ran off into wood again. She could see the lights from the castle. She ran as fast as she could towards it. She approached the door, panting. She wiped the water from her face and burst the doors open. The royal family and guards looked at her. The girl took a deep breath.
“It’s here.”
=======================================
Darius
by Nikhitha
It’s dark. So dark, I finally understand what it means to feel suffocated by it. And I’m alone. I don’t know where I am. I wish I could say it's quiet. But I hear things. I hear ear splitting shrieks which rip through me. I hear soft crying and ghastly howls. Of an animal? Human?
I can’t tell. The cold overwhelms me, and the wind is like layers of blankets being stuffed on top of me. I want to cry, but something won’t let me. I want to scream and run, but there it is again. That something, won’t let me.
I don’t know what I’m wearing. What position I’m sitting in. I can't even see my own legs. I want to move my head, and attempt to get a glimpse of something. Anything. But I’m too afraid. The fear feels like a raging animal deep in my stomach. Pacing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.
My mind is quiet yet it is crowded with streaming thoughts. I feel one emotion yet so many rush through me. Burying me. I feel strangely calm yet fear coils around me. I don’t know how long I stay there. The adrenaline make it seem like panic, yet strangely also like excitement.
It could have been only five minutes. But the nervousness makes it feel like eternity.
And then I wake up.
My eyes have to adjust to the new brightness, even though its dark. I feel a cold sweat on my back and forehead. My stomach churns. The soft silk feels wrinkled under my back, as if I was squirming. I can see the expensive canopy above me, hanging over me like a curse. Like a burden.
I get up from the sickeningly soft plush pillows fast.
The cold moonlight cascades through the window, illuminating the irritatingly vast room. I notice that all my things are put neatly away and aside on my ridiculous sandalwood desk. Even though I’ve warned the servants not to help me with anything. Not with choosing a channel, not with cleaning up after myself, and definitely not with taking a bath. I grimace, wishing the servants would let me work for myself just for once.
I wish I could complain, but I know I can’t. I have everything any kid would want. Expensive clothes, a rich family, servants, anything. Everything.
I abandon the thought knowing I would get nowhere, and sigh in relief instead. It was just a dream. It always just a dream. Those new emotions were never there. That adrenaline was never real. The relief quickly turns into disappointment though. Because again, those emotions were never there, and that adrenaline was never real.
====================================================
The Munchkin
by Laura and Catherine
I grasp the floury clump of dough on the cutting board. I sigh. My eyes float up, landing on the drive-through window. One car is waiting outside,
patiently waiting for breakfast. My mom used to tell me on long road trips that every car has its own story. In the shiny, jet black Honda Civic waiting outside, there is a middle aged man with a man bun buckling in a toddler in the back seat. I stare into his dark green eyes. He looks extremely fatigued. My mom also said the stories are the best part. Maybe he’s a single parent who takes care of his girl and seven giraffes. Maybe he’s a secret agent with his undercover spy baby whose rattles are actually bazookas. Or maybe he’s just a normal guy. Nah. I chuckle and put the dough in the fryer.
After a few minutes, the dough had fried and turned into a delectable, moist doughnut. I grabbed the MC, or Munchkin Cutter, and put it into the center of the doughnut. Finally, my creation was complete. I pulled the MC out of the freshly cut doughnut and placed the doughnut on the counter. I picked up the MC, and raised it into the air. My finger rises into the air and.. plop! The munchkin pops out, looking fried and beautiful. I look back at Man Bun and see that he left. Oh, well. No customers. I brush my floury hands off on my apron and walk to the front counter.
DING! Who was that? Probably a new customer. I walk faster, and to my surprise, Man Bun is waiting for me at the counter with his bazooka-bearing spy baby.
“Hi there! What would you like to order?¨
¨Lets see… I would like a black coffee… and your name.¨ He said this with a wide smile on his face.
¨Well, my name is… Anita Munchkin.¨ I blush, covering my face with my powdery hands. Suddenly, I hear saxophones playing. Coincidence? I think not. He smirks with his man bun ways and writes my name down on his hand with a pen.
“Well hi there, Anita Munchkin. My name is Man Bun.” he rings out, emphasizing the Man in man bun.
MAN. BUN.
Who names their child man bun? What cruel person decided, ‘Oh hey, look at me. I’m super cool and smart. I’m gonna name my kid MAN BUN. Man Bun! I think he could tell what I was thinking because he laughed and told me that it was short for Manny Bunther. Ironic.
Creampuffs.
I don’t have a pen on me to write down his name (and possibly number, not credit card though. Too soon.)!
As if he’s reading my mind, he pulls out a suede black pen, with one silver donut in the middle. “Here, I got one,” he chimes. I reach out and take the pen, our hands meeting. I stare into his cold, yet soulful eyeballs. He’s like Frederick Douglass’s Narrative, historical, yet strong.
I quickly sprawl ink across the Dunkin Donuts napkin and hand him pack his pen. “Th-thanks,” I stutter stupidly.
“You’re welcome, gorgeous.”
I swoon so hard I almost fall through the floor. He’s amazing. From the spy baby to protect me from those mean third graders, to his beautiful soulful eyes, he’s the one.
by Zander
Chapter 1: Meow!
Metal scraped along concrete, sparks coming from steel claws, the remnants of the fur that used to hide the beast underneath.
So many bits and pieces were welded onto what looked like a mutant cat the size a small house.
At least that's what I imagined, hiding behind a block of concrete that fell from a building, clutching an empty rifle to my chest, about as useful as a twig against a boulder. My body shook, the scrapes getting louder. I started to see sparks fly around the corner, My heart sank further into the black abyss that was created when this all started. I trained for years to be a soldier for this country. I thought I knew how I'd die while deployed, but I never expected to die from an oversized metal house cat. Its head moved past the corner, staring at me.
Then its full body came into view, every mangled piece of metal and bolt all melted together. Its jaw opened, then snapped wider, the head and jaw becoming completely vertical, revealing a mesh of speakers and wires welded together. A robotic voice echoed out into the sky “Please, do not-” it sounded like a broken record, repeating the word ‘not' for a few seconds. Once ‘not' had completely lost its meaning, it sparked, then continued its speech “please do not- not move. Police enforcements are-” the speaker snapped into static and a high pitched squeal, nearly deafening me. I stepped back and tripped over a rock. Just as my head hit the ground, I heard a crack, a pop. I thought it was my skull shattering against concrete, but when i saw the face of the metal devil that was before me a minute ago, sparking, its face horizontal with mine. Missing an eye.
And I realized the pop was a gunshot.
=================================
When It Rains
By Grace
It was raining quite hard. Thunder roared and lightning flashed. She was running fast. Her feet pounded against the forest floor, her breath came in short rasps. It was unclear what she was running from. Something dark, something powerful, something deadly. She stopped to catch her breath, but only heard the rain. The creature chasing her had stopped, but her guard wasn’t down. She stepped behind a tree, her heart pounding in her
ears. The monster came raging back through the forest, and stopped.
Right across from the tree where the girl was hiding, it breathed heavily as it searched for the girl. From behind the tree, the girl’s only barrier between life and death, she silently loaded her bow with an arrow and drew the string back. The monsters back was to her. She let go of the arrow, sending it flying through the rain. It pierced the monster’s flesh. The monster was particularly scrawny, but it had muscle. It shrieked as the arrowhead lodged itself in it back. It shriek rang through the forest, it sounded like grief, guilt, sorrow, and pain. Almost like a person mourning.
The girl knew she had wounded it and took the monsters moment of weakness to escape. The rain fell harder now, blurring the girl’s vision. She knew she didn’t have long before the monster started chasing her again. She was right, she heard that mournful shriek once more. The girl didn’t panic, she knew these woods like a mother knows her own child. The girl knew the monster wasn’t far behind, so she drew another arrow in the direction she came in. She could hear everything, the rain, the monster’s running, her own heartbeat. She breathed in slowly, and shot the arrow to her right. The arrow struck right in the monster’s forehead. It cried so loudly, the girl could hear it over the thunder. She wounded the monster much more now than before, because it didn’t get up. The girl approached the monster with caution, another arrow drawn back in her bow. She inched forward ever so slowly to avoid certain death. Then swiped the arrow back from the monsters already scared face.
“Face is the wrong word.” The girl thought, for the monster had no facial features. She didn’t stop to study it further, for it would probably gain consciousness soon. She ran off into wood again. She could see the lights from the castle. She ran as fast as she could towards it. She approached the door, panting. She wiped the water from her face and burst the doors open. The royal family and guards looked at her. The girl took a deep breath.
“It’s here.”
=======================================
Darius
by Nikhitha
It’s dark. So dark, I finally understand what it means to feel suffocated by it. And I’m alone. I don’t know where I am. I wish I could say it's quiet. But I hear things. I hear ear splitting shrieks which rip through me. I hear soft crying and ghastly howls. Of an animal? Human?
I can’t tell. The cold overwhelms me, and the wind is like layers of blankets being stuffed on top of me. I want to cry, but something won’t let me. I want to scream and run, but there it is again. That something, won’t let me.
I don’t know what I’m wearing. What position I’m sitting in. I can't even see my own legs. I want to move my head, and attempt to get a glimpse of something. Anything. But I’m too afraid. The fear feels like a raging animal deep in my stomach. Pacing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.
My mind is quiet yet it is crowded with streaming thoughts. I feel one emotion yet so many rush through me. Burying me. I feel strangely calm yet fear coils around me. I don’t know how long I stay there. The adrenaline make it seem like panic, yet strangely also like excitement.
It could have been only five minutes. But the nervousness makes it feel like eternity.
And then I wake up.
My eyes have to adjust to the new brightness, even though its dark. I feel a cold sweat on my back and forehead. My stomach churns. The soft silk feels wrinkled under my back, as if I was squirming. I can see the expensive canopy above me, hanging over me like a curse. Like a burden.
I get up from the sickeningly soft plush pillows fast.
The cold moonlight cascades through the window, illuminating the irritatingly vast room. I notice that all my things are put neatly away and aside on my ridiculous sandalwood desk. Even though I’ve warned the servants not to help me with anything. Not with choosing a channel, not with cleaning up after myself, and definitely not with taking a bath. I grimace, wishing the servants would let me work for myself just for once.
I wish I could complain, but I know I can’t. I have everything any kid would want. Expensive clothes, a rich family, servants, anything. Everything.
I abandon the thought knowing I would get nowhere, and sigh in relief instead. It was just a dream. It always just a dream. Those new emotions were never there. That adrenaline was never real. The relief quickly turns into disappointment though. Because again, those emotions were never there, and that adrenaline was never real.
====================================================
The Munchkin
by Laura and Catherine
I grasp the floury clump of dough on the cutting board. I sigh. My eyes float up, landing on the drive-through window. One car is waiting outside,
patiently waiting for breakfast. My mom used to tell me on long road trips that every car has its own story. In the shiny, jet black Honda Civic waiting outside, there is a middle aged man with a man bun buckling in a toddler in the back seat. I stare into his dark green eyes. He looks extremely fatigued. My mom also said the stories are the best part. Maybe he’s a single parent who takes care of his girl and seven giraffes. Maybe he’s a secret agent with his undercover spy baby whose rattles are actually bazookas. Or maybe he’s just a normal guy. Nah. I chuckle and put the dough in the fryer.
After a few minutes, the dough had fried and turned into a delectable, moist doughnut. I grabbed the MC, or Munchkin Cutter, and put it into the center of the doughnut. Finally, my creation was complete. I pulled the MC out of the freshly cut doughnut and placed the doughnut on the counter. I picked up the MC, and raised it into the air. My finger rises into the air and.. plop! The munchkin pops out, looking fried and beautiful. I look back at Man Bun and see that he left. Oh, well. No customers. I brush my floury hands off on my apron and walk to the front counter.
DING! Who was that? Probably a new customer. I walk faster, and to my surprise, Man Bun is waiting for me at the counter with his bazooka-bearing spy baby.
“Hi there! What would you like to order?¨
¨Lets see… I would like a black coffee… and your name.¨ He said this with a wide smile on his face.
¨Well, my name is… Anita Munchkin.¨ I blush, covering my face with my powdery hands. Suddenly, I hear saxophones playing. Coincidence? I think not. He smirks with his man bun ways and writes my name down on his hand with a pen.
“Well hi there, Anita Munchkin. My name is Man Bun.” he rings out, emphasizing the Man in man bun.
MAN. BUN.
Who names their child man bun? What cruel person decided, ‘Oh hey, look at me. I’m super cool and smart. I’m gonna name my kid MAN BUN. Man Bun! I think he could tell what I was thinking because he laughed and told me that it was short for Manny Bunther. Ironic.
Creampuffs.
I don’t have a pen on me to write down his name (and possibly number, not credit card though. Too soon.)!
As if he’s reading my mind, he pulls out a suede black pen, with one silver donut in the middle. “Here, I got one,” he chimes. I reach out and take the pen, our hands meeting. I stare into his cold, yet soulful eyeballs. He’s like Frederick Douglass’s Narrative, historical, yet strong.
I quickly sprawl ink across the Dunkin Donuts napkin and hand him pack his pen. “Th-thanks,” I stutter stupidly.
“You’re welcome, gorgeous.”
I swoon so hard I almost fall through the floor. He’s amazing. From the spy baby to protect me from those mean third graders, to his beautiful soulful eyes, he’s the one.
Samples from students given a list of words they must use and less than 10 minutes to write a story
From a girl (in Texas I think) whose name I can't find
Yanked from the depths of hell, he arose to his victory, crawling onto the earth. Breathing the cold, crisp air. He was glad to be alive. He came with a secret that he would never tell. For after all, he was a demon from the depths of hell.
As he laid his eyes upon a flattering girl, he knew had found his prey. Suddenly he grabbed her arm and yanked her to his body. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but darkness.
Slowly but surely they started to get closer. As they kept their eyes connected, he grabbed her hair and pulled her so close. So close, their lips were touching. Her eyes rolled back, and her skin turned white as she dropped to her meaningless death.
As he walked away his heart started to sink, for he could still taste the flavor of her lips.
Dolores
Eyes. We see people on skateboards like a blur as they pass. Eyes. They’re like a miracle. We see family pictures with them. Without them, that’s a secret, unless you’ve experienced it. Darkness would fall, an infinite tangle. The 98 degrees on the thermostat, all that would yank you toward it would be the sound. The bullies’ body language would come to a halt. You wouldn’t get the dizzy sight from spinning on a swivel chair. You couldn’t see the milk chocolate dishes spread across the bakery. Without eyes, a crack could tear your world in two. The colors across the blossom fields would only have the sweet smell of spring. The wood crafting of the violin would only sound like a lullaby played for a child’s sweet dreams.
From students in Corpus Christi, Texas
Tom stood up on his feet and looked out the window in wonder. Everything before the escape was a blur, but it was a miracle they were safe. Tom was starting to see the bigger picture. He was adrift in space with two other people he was sure were crazy. He saw the two said people, DeeDee and Emmett, sitting in their chairs and staring at him, their eyes filled with confusion and fear. Tom was about to say something but came to a halt, because he realized he had nothing to say. Tom looked out into the infinity of space. He started to feel sick to his stomach. “Look,” Tom said with a slight voice crack, “we’re probably the last humans in the universe, so let’s just take a minute to think about what just happened.”
—Isaac M.
The day Willa Rodriquez died, honey was dripping from my front door. It wasn’t a surprise. In my heart, I knew it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.
The decision wasn’t easy, but the darkness had begun to spread throughout Orion, a whisper plaguing my dreams: choose, choose, choose.
—Delia P.
Yanked from the depths of hell, he arose to his victory, crawling onto the earth. Breathing the cold, crisp air. He was glad to be alive. He came with a secret that he would never tell. For after all, he was a demon from the depths of hell.
As he laid his eyes upon a flattering girl, he knew had found his prey. Suddenly he grabbed her arm and yanked her to his body. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but darkness.
Slowly but surely they started to get closer. As they kept their eyes connected, he grabbed her hair and pulled her so close. So close, their lips were touching. Her eyes rolled back, and her skin turned white as she dropped to her meaningless death.
As he walked away his heart started to sink, for he could still taste the flavor of her lips.
Dolores
Eyes. We see people on skateboards like a blur as they pass. Eyes. They’re like a miracle. We see family pictures with them. Without them, that’s a secret, unless you’ve experienced it. Darkness would fall, an infinite tangle. The 98 degrees on the thermostat, all that would yank you toward it would be the sound. The bullies’ body language would come to a halt. You wouldn’t get the dizzy sight from spinning on a swivel chair. You couldn’t see the milk chocolate dishes spread across the bakery. Without eyes, a crack could tear your world in two. The colors across the blossom fields would only have the sweet smell of spring. The wood crafting of the violin would only sound like a lullaby played for a child’s sweet dreams.
From students in Corpus Christi, Texas
Tom stood up on his feet and looked out the window in wonder. Everything before the escape was a blur, but it was a miracle they were safe. Tom was starting to see the bigger picture. He was adrift in space with two other people he was sure were crazy. He saw the two said people, DeeDee and Emmett, sitting in their chairs and staring at him, their eyes filled with confusion and fear. Tom was about to say something but came to a halt, because he realized he had nothing to say. Tom looked out into the infinity of space. He started to feel sick to his stomach. “Look,” Tom said with a slight voice crack, “we’re probably the last humans in the universe, so let’s just take a minute to think about what just happened.”
—Isaac M.
The day Willa Rodriquez died, honey was dripping from my front door. It wasn’t a surprise. In my heart, I knew it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.
The decision wasn’t easy, but the darkness had begun to spread throughout Orion, a whisper plaguing my dreams: choose, choose, choose.
—Delia P.
